


Love’s Not Always Wise

by FromTheBoundlessSea



Series: The Celiaverse [6]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst and Feels, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst and Tragedy, Angst with a Happy Ending, BAMF Catelyn Tully Stark, BAMF Sansa Stark, Brother-Brother Relationship, Brother-Sister Relationships, Canon Divergence - Red Wedding, Childbirth, Dany will be a villain, Dark Dany, F/M, Family Dynamics, Family Feels, Family Secrets, Heavy Angst, I will warn you when they are going to be implied, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Jealous Jon Snow, Jon Snow Has a Twin Sister, Jon Snow is Not Called Aegon, Jonsa will come later, Mother-Daughter Relationship, Motherhood, Mutual Pining, Overprotective Robb Stark, POV Multiple, Protective Robb Stark, R Plus L Equals J, Ramsay Bolton is His Own Warning, Red Wedding, Robb Stark Lives, Robb Stark is King in the North, Sansa Stark is a Good Friend, Sexual Content, Sexual Tension, Sister-Sister Relationship, Unresolved Sexual Tension, War of the Five Kings, Warging, although they will interact, and C, but NEVER shown, but not until later, do not read if you want her to be the hero, especially for Sansa, in the opening chapters, soooo much, the fic will focus on Robb and Celia, the scenes will not be shown, then things will begin to change, they will be referenced to, until the Red Wedding
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-04
Updated: 2021-02-18
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:15:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 35
Words: 68,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24538315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FromTheBoundlessSea/pseuds/FromTheBoundlessSea
Summary: Growing up as the bastard daughter of Eddard Stark was not easy, yet, Celia knew she had it better than most. As things begin to change, and war echoes across the horizon, Celia must battle with her heart and duty as forbidden feelings begin to take root and she endangers everything and everyone she has ever loved.
Relationships: Catelyn Stark/Ned Stark, Jon Snow/Sansa Stark, Robb Stark/Original Female Character(s)
Series: The Celiaverse [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1547251
Comments: 577
Kudos: 577





	1. Celia I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just know there’s mentions of periods in the third and fourth part of this chapter. Sorry if that makes some queasy

Celia wasn’t sure when she noticed it, but perhaps it was the first time she scraped her knee and ran crying to the passing Lady Stark to kiss it better like she would do for Robb. However, Lady Stark did not hear when Celia called to her. Instead, Bessa, her and Jon’s nursemaid, picked her up and kissed the tears from Celia’s cheeks. 

“Best not bother Lady Stark,” the woman said. “You need something, you come to good old Bessa.”

Celia wrapped her arms around the woman’s neck and stared after Lady Stark as she went on her way, as though nothing had happened. 

Perhaps it was then that Celia realized she was different. 

Or, perhaps it was the way Father looked at her. 

Whenever Celia would bring him crowns of wildflowers or show him her messy scribbles I’d her name, her father would get a distant look in his eyes that Celia could not place. She did not know where he went when his eyes grew distant. All she knew was that it was as though he saw her, but didn’t all at once. It was as though he were seeing a ghost. It was as though seeing her brought pain. 

Perhaps it was then. 

Or, perhaps it was the way she was not allowed to play as closely with Robb as she could with Jon. She could still remember Lady Stark’s reprimand after she was found curled between Robb and Jon after a nightmare. Her brothers had decided to share a bed so she might sleep protected by them on both sides. The reprimands were only to her and Jon and not to Robb. She stuck more closely to Jon’s side and stayed with her twin when she wanted to be protected. 

Perhaps it was then 

Or, perhaps it was when Celia was not to brush Sansa’s hair or let her younger sister try on her more simple dresses. She could remember the look of disapproval in Lady Stark’s eyes when she caught the two of them switching dresses. She could remember Sansa getting pretty dresses in Stark and Tully colors while Celia got black dresses with grey wolves embroidered by Bessa. 

Perhaps it was then. 

Or, it was perhaps that Arya got goodnight kisses and comfort from a scraped elbow or knee even though she was younger and that Celia wasn’t to be responsible for her as Robb was for all of them. 

Perhaps it was then. 

Or, perhaps it was the way Lady Stark kept her from Bran. 

Perhaps then. 

Then she first heard the word.

_Bastard._

It was then that she noticed that she and Jon did not have the Stark name. They were Snows. 

Celia went to her father immediately, crying. Her father was good and brave and just. He could not possibly have done what the people of the keep whispered. 

“Am I your daughter, Father?” she asked, tears streaming down her cheeks as she pressed her face into his hip. 

Her father stroked her hair and kneeled before her, like a gallant knight from the songs come to rescue her. “Why would you ask such a thing, sweet girl?”

“I am a Snow and you are a Stark and Lady Stark is not my mother. And,” she sniffed. “And—”

Her father pulled her into a gentle embrace before lifting her up and holding her to his chest as she wrapped her arms around his neck. “You may not have my name,” he said softly. “But you have my blood.” Her father pressed a kiss to her dark brown hair. “You are a Stark. What are our words?”

“Winter is coming,” she said, mimicking her father’s deeper voice and he chuckled, his beard scratched at her cheek. 

“That it is, my sweet girl, and the pack must stay together. For the lone wolf dies, but the pack survives.”

—

It was as though the world were on fire and the flames had kissed the land and the stone in the tower Celia sat in. Mountains rose in the distance like dragon wings. Shadows crossed the sky and Celia heard a flap of something big and terrifying and strong. 

“Please, let me go,” Celia spoke, although her voice sounded older, deeper. “Please, I just want to go home. You said I could go home.” She was so tired and she felt as though she were going to burst. She looked down and saw her belly was swollen and she felt so very tired and so very ill. Her shift was black and she touched her brow before removing a crown of withered winter roses from her head. 

“You are to remain here,” a man said. He was cast against the sun, his figure like a shadow. “This is the cost of your freedom. This is what you wanted.”

Celia shook her head and, again, spoke in a voice that she did not recognize. “I didn’t want this,” she said. “I didn’t ask for this. Let me go home. Please. Please. I want my brothers. I want my father.” Tears began to stream down her cheeks as she sat clumsily in the bed behind her. “Please. Please.”

“You already tried to escape, sweetling,” the man said, his voice circling her, as though he were the hunter and she the prey. “You would take a child from their father? I am wounded. After all that I have done for you?”

“I never asked for this!” Celia screamed

“Oh,” he said, and suddenly his hand was upon her cheek. “But you did.” He stroked her jaw and her skin crawled. “You wanted your freedom. Well, this is how you earn it.”

“No,” Celia sobbed. 

“Yes.” The man’s eyes turned ice blue, but, for a second, she thought they were violet. 

—

Celia awoke to the pale light of morning flitter in through her open window, which must have happened during the night. She awoke in pain. It was as though her stomach was being ripped apart and she felt so achy, as though sleep had skidded her completely. Something felt wrong. 

She threw back her blankets and furs and cried out in horror. She struggled away, her body feeling like lead, falling from her bed, her shift stained with blood. 

She curled in on herself and cried. It hurt. It really hurt. Was she dying? Was she going to bleed to death? Celia grabbed into the bedpost and pulled herself up as tears streamed down her cheeks. Where was the wound? Why was she bleeding. It hurt. She wanted her father, but she didn’t want to disturb Lady Stark. Perhaps if she went to Maester Luwin… She needed Maester Luwin. She wanted Bessa too, but Bessa has left two years ago to have her baby. 

She went to her basin and tried to wash the blood, panicking when she found no cut or wound that would bleed to the extent that she had. What has happened? What was wrong? She looked at her bed and saw a dark red stain and a knot formed in Celia’s throat. Lady a Stark would be so angry. She had stained the bed and it was so dark. It was not like when Bran peed the bed. This was a much darker stain, more noticeable. Lady Stark would be so very angry. 

“Ce, why haven’t you come down for—” Jon’s voice cut off and Celia looked at her twin brother with tear filled eyes. 

She was dying and her brother had been the only one to check on her. 

“Father!” Jon screamed, running from the room as fast as he could, his voice echoing across the hall. “Lady Stark!” Celia sat back down and cried some more, her body burning and churning and wrapped her arms around her stomach. Pressure seemed to relieve the pain. “Celia’s dying!!!!”

She soon heard a thunder of feet down the hall and her closing door slammed open. “Celia!”

She looked over and saw her father completely out of breath, his face pale and even Lady Stark had come to see what had happened. She held Bran and Jon looked sick to his stomach, as did Robb, who had come along as well. She didn’t see Sansa or Arya. 

She was going to die without her sisters to hug her. 

Her father seemed to catch his breath and stared at her for a moment before looking at her bed before turning to look at her again. 

“All of you out,” Lady Stark ordered. 

“Cat,” Celia’s father said cautiously. 

“Seven hells, Ned,” Lady Stark muttered. “This needs to be private.”

Jon grabbed onto Lady Stark’s skirt. “Is Celua dying?”

Lady Stark closed her eyes and chuckled slightly. “She isn’t dying. But I need you all to get out so I can help her.” She looked to her husband. “All of you out.” Celia’s father sighed and took Bran from Lady Stark’s arms. “Have the servants set up a warm bath here and have Celia’s food brought here as well as a change of clothes.”

“Of course,” Celia’s father said.

“And bring her my special tea, the maester will know to which I am referring.”

They all left and Celia was alone with Lady Stark. 

—

Lady Stark braided Celia’s hair simply as they waited for the servants to draw the bath and sent them all away. She lifted Celia and helped her into the hot water, letting her get used to it before sitting down. The pain began to ease and Celia began to relax. 

“Am I dying?”

“No,” Lady Stark said, washing the sweat from Celia’s face as well as her tears. “Did Bessa not talk to you of flowering?”

“She said that it was how girls could make babies,” Celia replied. 

Lady Stark sighed. “She is not wrong, but she is not right either. Did she say anything else?”

Celia shook her head. 

“You are considered a maiden now, by law, although you are only ten so it means very little.” She undid Celia’s braid and began to brush Celia’s hair. 

“Does that mean Fa—Lord Stark will send me away?” she asked. “Maidens get sent away, don’t they?”

“You are only ten, such things will not be discussed until you’re a little older and won’t be carried out until you are much older.”

“I’m not in trouble?” Celia asked hesitantly. “I ruined my shift and my bed.”

“You are not in trouble,” Lady Stark said. “If anything, Bessa is for not explaining things properly.” She clicked her tongue. 

Celia shifted uncomfortably in the tub. She had never gotten such affection or treatment from her father’s wife. She wondered, briefly, if this was what having a mother was like.

Celia often wondered about her and Jon’s mother. She wondered if she knew where they were and wondered if they were well. She wondered if her mother had any other children now, as Lady Stark did. She wondered if Father went to visit her whenever he went out riding. She wondered if he would take her and Jon to see her one day. She wondered why her father had taken them in the first place. 

Lady Stark helped Celia out of the bath and washed her off. The lady gave Celia bunches of cotton and fabric to hold between her legs and explained what to do with them and how to change them. She then had Celia return to her newly made up bed, bloodied sheets and bedding gone. She set Celia’s plate of food to the side and encouraged her to drink a bitter tea that would help with the stomach pain. 

“Why is it so painful?” Celia asked. 

“A man knows pain through preparing for war and war itself. A woman learns it through her moonblood and childbirth.”

Celia narrowed her eyes. “ _Moonblood_? Why is it called that?”

“Because you get it for a week or so every moon,” Lady Stark replied. 

Celia’s jaw dropped, mortified. “It will happen more than once?!?”

“Sadly,” Lady Stark agreed. “However, once you have children of your own, in the distant future, it will all seem worth it and I can promise it will not always be this bad.”

Celia nodded. 

Lady Stark tucked some stray hair behind Celia’s ear. “If you need more of the padding or you feel something strange, come to me and we shall speak with Maester Luwin together. The Citadel isn’t very knowledgeable as they think about such things.”

Celia nodded. “Thank you, Lady Stark.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Celia needs all the hugs from her dad.
> 
> And Rhaegar definitely held Lyanna against her will, this fic will go more along how I think Lyanna wound up with Rhaegar.
> 
> Poor Celia had no idea what was happening.
> 
> Cat felt rather bad that Celia didn’t have an older woman who still remained in Winterfell (besides Nan) to help her. She’ll be kinder to Celia than she is to Jon, but that’s because Celia holds little threat to Robb’s claim to Winterfell.
> 
> Hope you guys enjoy where this goes!


	2. Robb I

It was snowing, only just slightly, but it was snow nonetheless. Arya was stuck inside with a slight cold and Bran was down for his nap. That left Robb, Sansa, Jon, and Celia out to play. 

They were all dressed in simple furs. It wasn’t too cold yet, but cold enough for Robb’s mother to insist they wear something. Robb and Sansa wore light grey cloaks with an embroidered dark grey direwolf running across the hem. Jon and Celia each wore a black cloak with a pale grey wolf at the hem. The twins had very different cloaks from the rest of the children, something Robb had not quite understood when he was younger, but he understood better now. They were Snows, while he and Sansa and Arya and Bran were Starks. 

As the eldest, Robb was the ringleader regardless. Father always told Robb that it was his duty to look after his younger siblings and he told Jon as well that it was their duty to look after the girls. Robb did the very best he could since he was Father’s heir. He had a lot to live up to. His father was brave and good and strong. Not everyone was like that, Robb knew it. If all men were like his father, the Rebellion would have never happened and perhaps Robb would be Uncle Brandon’s son. However, Robb prefered his own father, even though he knew that the man mourned the loss of his older brother. 

It did not help that he had the Tully look. Father insisted that he had the Stark chin and long face, but his coloring was Tully and he prayed to the New Gods more often than he did to the Old. Robb wished he looked more like his father. He knew his mother wished he did at times. Jon took after their father, as did Celia. Both had the Stark coloring and the Stark look. Robb knee his mother didn’t quite like that, but, to Robb, it just meant there was none of their mother in them. Except for maybe Celia’s eyes. Sometimes her dark eyes had flecks of another color that briefly appeared whenever she first stepped out into the light, never long enough for Robb to catch the color though. 

“I want to play monster and maidens!” Sansa said, bouncing on the balls of her feet, pulling Robb from his thoughts. She took hold of Celia’s arm, smiling broadly, yet still very lady-like. “We can get Jory and he can be the monster to guard us and you two can be the knights or princes!”

Robb sighed. “I suppose.” He did not particularly want to play monster and maidens, but it was a good way for Jon and him to run about the castle. “What princess will you be today, Sansa?”

“Queen Naerys!” Sansa said happily. “She is so romantic.”

Robb chuckled. “And you, Celia.”

She shifted slightly in thought. She always had the habit of overthinking and second guessing herself. Robb felt she needed to learn to have more confidence but he wasn’t really the one who should tell her such. “I…” She narrowed her eyes and frowned. “I shall be Jenny of Oldstones,” she said quietly. “Yes,” she nodded. “I’ll be Jenny.”

“What about you Jon?”

His brother glared at him. “I’m not going to be a princess.”

Robb smirked. “I mean which Targaryen will you be?”

“I don’t want to be a Targaryen,” Jon muttered. 

“Well you have to be someone,” Robb said plainly. 

“Then, I’ll be Father, the Lord of Winterfell.”

“You can’t be Lord of Winterfell,” Robb laughed. “You’re a bastard.”

Jon’s cheeks turned red and he stared at the ground as though he wanted it to open up and swallow him whole and Robb realized his mistake. 

“I didn’t—”

Sansa let go of Celia and wrapped her arms around Jon’s arm. “You can be Grandfather,” she said. “You’re our half- _ brother _ and he was your grandfather too. He can defeat the dragon this time.”

Jon smiled slowly. “Thanks.”

Sansa nodded and then went back to Celia. “We’ll find Joey and then we’ll hide.”

—

“Father?” 

Robb stopped in his tracks and glanced at the crack in his father’s solar door. He took a few steps forward and peered in, seeing Celia standing before their father, shifting on her feet nervously her long dark hair mostly down with a singular braid to pull back the hair from her face to indicate that she was a maiden not yet ready to be married. 

“What is it, Sweetling?” their fathers asked. 

“Will I get married someday?”

Robb had heard his sister speak quietly before, but she sounded so very unsure then. It was as though she did not fully expect an answer from their father. He knew that Celia wanted to have a family of her own one day. She treasured the cloth doll that Father had gotten her for her nameday the past year. She cradled it in her arms constantly and named her Serena Snow for the snowy white fabric of her skin. 

“It is not my place to decide such a thing, sweetling,” Father said. 

“But you’re the Lord of Winterfell and the Warden.”

Robb heard his father sigh. “I know, sweet girl. It’s just… Things are more complicated for you.”

Celia shifted on her feet. “Will I marry a lord like Sansa will? Will I get to be a lady like Lady Stark?”

“No, sweet girl,” Father said gently. “You will not.”

“Will I always be a Snow?”

“Celia—”

“Can I go to my mother?”

Robb flinched slightly. Everyone knew not to ask or speak of Jon and Celia’s mother. He heard whispers that his mother had asked and Father had gotten so very angry about it. 

“I… I won’t be a bother and–and maybe there’s a boy where my mother is who will not mind that I am a snow. He–he does not have to be a lordling and–and… My mother—”

Father’s fist hit the table. It was not hard, but it still made a point. “Celia,” he said. “You are to stay in Winterfell.”

It was as quiet as the crypts and Robb’s heart twisted in his chest. 

“Does my mother not want me? Does she not want Jon?”

Their father sighed. “I’ll tell you about your mother when you’re older. You are too young to think of anything beyond your dolls. Return to the nursery, Celia. I have work to do.”

Robb left the hall quickly so as to not embarrass Celia any more than she must already. 

—

When the Iron Islands began to rebel against the crown, Father left to join the king Robb was named for and headed South. 

Mother kissed him goodbye over and over and asked him to come back to her safely. Arya made a face at the sight. Father then went to each of his children to give them his goodbyes with Robb being the first. 

“You’re to be the lord of the keep while I’m gone,” he said. “Listen to your mother and Maester Luwin. They will help you learn to listen to the people and your fellow lords.”

Robb nodded. “Yes, Father.”

The man then went to the rest of his children to bid them farewell. 

That had been months ago and Robb missed his father dearly. It was as though a gaping hole had been left where his father should be. Robb was made to be busy with his lordling lessons and helped his mother with his father’s duties. Maester Luwin did the same, correcting some issues that Robb had created for himself.

He rather liked the work, but he was only ten and would much rather be outside playing with his siblings. 

Then there was Jon and Celia. The twins had made themselves very scarce since their father’s departure, staying out of Mother’s way, although Robb knew that Celia spent more time in her presence. Celia had come to the Lord’s solar in tears and Robb could see an unfamiliar stain upon her skirts. Mother had left Robb with Maester Luwin and took Celia’s hand and they left to do something that Robb had little knowledge of. He supposed it had to do with what had happened a while ago when Jon thought she was dying. 

Even so, Robb could see the tension in his mother’s shoulders whenever Jon and Celia day together with the family at private meals. He even overheard a conversation between us mother and the maester that he probably shouldn’t have. 

“This is not like the king’s rebellion, my lady,” Maester Luwin said. “He is not still processing the loss of his father and brother or the disappearance of his sister. He knows you and loves you, my lady. Of that there is no doubt.”

“But what if he goes to  _ her _ ?”

“Lady Catelyn, I know you and Lord Stark did not begin your marriage in the best of circumstances, but I have seen the way he looks at you and though I have taken vows to have no wife or children, even I can tell that he loves you and is utterly devoted to you and your marriage bed.”

Robb’s mother sighed. “Thank you, Maester Luwin, for comforting a fretting woman.”

“I am to support you while Lord Stark is gone and as a person from the South as well, we must stick together and show these Northmen just how much steel is beneath our flower exterior.”

Robb’s mother laughed. 

—

When news of their father’s arrival reached the keep, the Stark children were thrilled. Sansa ran about the keep, actually ran, to get ready, singing as she went. Celia held Arya’s hand and helped pull the younger girl along as they readied for their father’s arrival, although they truly had very little to do. It did not stop them, however, from doing so. 

Robb’s mother kept an eye on the boys to make sure they actually washed themselves before they readied themselves properly to greet their father upon his return. 

Robb had also heard his mother order Maester Luwin to help prepare another room near the nursery. He had heard the words  _ ward  _ and  _ Greyjoy _ and then, when asked, his mother confirmed that Father was bringing home a ward, the last son of House Greyjoy, to live with them in Winterfell. 

It soon came time for them all to await in the courtyard to greet their father and his men upon his return. 

Mother stood tall and smiling, dressed in Stark grey with veins of blue embroidery upon the skirt that made it look like rivers upon a map and red trip upon the hem of the skirt as well. Her hair was pulled mostly up to signify her marriage with a lock of hair delicately loose and cast across her shoulder. 

The children all stood faithfully in their best clothes with even Arya wearing a clean dress to appease their father and garner a compliment or two from him. Although Robb had no doubt that the dress would be ruined within an hour of their father’s return.

Robb tugged on his collar slightly as the gates began to open and his hand shot down to his side as he watched his father enter upon his horse. With their father was a boy not much older than Robb with dark hair and dark eyes. 

Father dismounted his horse and helped the boy off the steed as well before going to Mother and wrapping her in his arms to hold her. They kissed and Robb looked away respectively although a little disgusted. 

“I have missed you, Cat,” Father said softly. 

“I’ve missed you too, Ned.” His mother sounded so content that Robb did smile at that. 

Father then smiled at Robb, letting go of his wife. “I see Winterfell still stands. That can only mean you have done a good job, Robb. I’m proud of you.”

Robb beamed up at his father, chin lifted at the praise. 

Father then motioned for the boy standing next to Jory to come forward. “This is Theon Greyjoy. He will be staying with us for the foreseeable future. Treat him well for his is to be like your brother from this day forth as I am called brother by the king.”

Robb nodded and glanced at his siblings to see their reactions to such a statement. Some looked surprised but accepting. Celia, on the other hand, was blushing. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some slight Jonsa this chapter! Yay! ❤️ And I love that Sansa was very determined to call Jon her half-brother as opposed to bastard or bastard brother. 
> 
> Poor Celia. Ned just doesn’t understand what that sounds like to a child. And he’s trying to protect her, but even so. 
> 
> The Greyjoy rebellion happened when Robb, Jon, and Celia are eleven and Theon is fourteen (changing his age just a tiny bit from canon) instead of when they were younger. 
> 
> Also, Cat will be a very prominent character in this series as it will focus a lot on the Stark front of the War and her relationship with Jon and Celia both with her a major part of the fic as well.
> 
> Celia has a crush~~
> 
> Also, Rickon is totally conceived by all the happy sex Cat and Ned have upon his return.
> 
> And there will be a significant time skip of five years with Celia and Robb being sixteen.


	3. Catelyn I

Catelyn awoke to a cold bed and knew that Ned had already awoken to begin his day as the Lord of Winterfell. She was still sore from the previous night, having spent many hours into it with her husband buried deep inside her. She blushed at the memory. Even though she had been married to Ned Stark for almost seventeen years, she still felt a thrill run through her every time they found themselves making love. 

It had stopped being simply coupling years ago, possibly even a decade ago. It was a fierce love that she had not expected from Ned when she first met him on their wedding day. She had been betrothed to his older brother, Brandon, before his death at the hands of the Mad King, alongside his father Rickard Stark. Ned has been nothing like his father or elder brother.  _ The quiet wolf.  _ That’s what they called him. That is what he seemed then as well, quiet and brooding. But there was a gentleness to him that many who did not know him would find strange.

On their wedding night, Ned had done his best to make sure that Catelyn felt as little pain as she could while taking her maidenhead. He had been kind to her, his kisses filled with a sense of duty, but of the sweet sort. Ned was a serious man and took his vows seriously. 

She knew of the pain he still felt at the thought of the family lost to him and knew he often felt it should be Brandon in his place. As a young girl, Catelyn might have agreed with him. However, now…

She could imagine no life with any other beside Ned. She could not imagine being the wife of Brandon or any other headstrong lord. She was Catelyn Stark, wife of Lord Eddard Stark and mother to his many children. She could imagine no life but the one she had been given. 

Sometimes, however, she imagined what it would have been like if they had married while he was still the second son and Brandon was the Lord of Winterfell. She wondered about a life where the two might laze about in their bed and bask in the morning light together without the worries of running a keep like Winterfell. However, such a thing was not to be. The two of them were far too bound by duty to go without working for long. 

Catelyn stood and called for one of her handmaidens, Jeyne Darry, to enter and begin dressing her. Jeyne had followed Catelyn North after her marriage. House Darry had sided with the Targaryens during the Rebellion that led to the fall of the dragons, but Jeyne had been innocent of her father’s choices and Catelyn had insisted that her friend travel North with her where she might be able to escape some of her family’s disgrace. 

Jeyne dresses her in a Northern grey dress, meaning it was a little simpler than the Southron dresses they had grown up wearing, but was finer still with its focus on embroidery over a surplus of fabric. Along the neckline and front closings of the bodice, red weirwood leaves were sewn in beautifully but Catelyn herself with white thread decorating the trim like branches along her waist in a sort of corset that acted more as a belt than the drawn in way that Southron ladies had apparently begun to. Although it was not too cold yet, as her husband often stated  _ winter was coming  _ and she put on a light cloak of grey and white fox fur along the collar, bits of the Tully blue lining apparent as she walked. 

“Thank you, Jeyne,” Catelyn said as her friend finished braiding her hair into a simple Norther hairstyle of braids twisted into a swirl behind her head. 

Catelyn stood and made her way to begin her duties as the Lady of Winterfell. 

—

Catelyn sat down in the sewing circles with the ladies of Winterfell, which included her two daughters and Celia Snow. 

The girl had recently turned sixteen alongside her brother. Celia Snow had the Northern look, a slightly longer face and big dark grey eyes that seemed to flash a different color occasionally when the light hit them just right, but light ever hit anything just right this far north with the sky so often overcast. 

Ever since the girl flowered, Catelyn had felt a sort of compassion for the girl in a way that she could not bring herself to with her brother Jon Snow. Celia was a motherless girl with no one to guide her in the ways that their society might treat a girl of her standing. Ned was of no help, unsure of how to even relate to his eldest trueborn daughter, Sansa when it came to her ever changing body and preferences. Catelyn has no doubt her husband still believed Sansa preferred playing with dolls. 

Celia was a girl grown, blossoming into adulthood and at an age where many might believe marriage or a betrothment was just around the corner had she been trueborn. However, the girl was a baseborn and Catelyn doubted that any lord would even offer a second son to such a girl. Perhaps another bastard, but Celia was much gentler than any other bastard girl might be. She was not some wonton girl spreading her legs for any boy or man in the keep or Wintertown. She was a fiercely loyal girl with the blood of the First Men running through her veins. A little she-wolf whose sole purpose seemed to be to protect her pack, especially the pups. 

“It’s no use,” Arya muttered under her breath.

Catelyn glanced at her youngest daughter. If she were not present, Catelyn had no doubt that Arya would have already made her excuses to escape the eye of Septa Mordane, preferring to be with her brothers in the training yard. “I’ll never be as good as  _ perfect Sansa. _ ”

“Sansa isn’t perfect,” Celia said gently, keeping her voice low. “She’s just older than you. She’s also got more patience. You’re stabbing your cloth as though it personally offends you.”

“It does offend me,” Arya replied darkly. 

“Make it for Jon then,” Sansa said, entering the conversation. “I am sure he would love it regardless, but make it for him as practice.”

“Jon wouldn’t want something stupid like a handkerchief,” Arya snorted. 

“My brother is far more romantic than you give him credit for,” Celia said. “He would love a proper handkerchief, especially if it was from you.”

Arya paused for a moment. “Really?”

“Truly,” Sansa said. “Just a few years ago I had to teach Jon how to talk to girls.”

Catelyn could see Celia biting her bottom lip to keep from laughing. Ned’s eldest daughter was good with Catelyn’s other children, but especially her daughters and Rickon. She was a motherly sort and Catelyn could see the content she seemed to have at acting motherly towards the small children of the keep, wiping away their fat tears and kissing their dusty cheeks. Catelyn might never have the courage to allow the girl to bear the Stark name, but she would do her best to allow her a life where the girl might be allowed to be a mother true. 

—

Catelyn watched from the balcony looking over the training yard. Ned was down there with the boys, going over some of what they needed to know as men. Rickon, who was four, sat in a bale of hay as the older boys were learning. Bran stood awkwardly next to Jon Snow, nervously holding his practice sword as Ned demonstrated some techniques with Jory Cassel. 

Bran grabbed hold of Jon’s sleeve and tugged on it to grab the boy’s attention. Jon bent down, keeping his eyes on the demonstration and only turned once he heard whatever it was that Bran wanted to stay. Jon Snow put his hand on Bran’s shoulder and said something solemnly that made him look very much like Ned that Catelyn’s heart twisted painfully in her chest. 

Jon Snow was not like his sister. The boy had the Northern look to him, something none of Catelyn’s own son’s had. He looked like Ned with dark brown eyes that were from some strange woman that Catelyn knew nothing about. Celia looked enough like Ned, but also like how Arya might when she was older that Catelyn felt no worry for the girl. However, Catelyn knew too much of the Blackfyre rebellions and then Dances of Dragons to be wholly comfortable with Jon Snow’s presence in Winterfell. She had spoken countless times to Ned of the boy’s presence, but he would hear none of it. 

He must have loved her, whenever she was, to be so protective of them. Some dark twisted part of Catelyn hoped the woman was dead and that was why her husband had brought the twins into their keep. That she could understand. Ned was far too honorable to leave any of his children uncared for. But he had not said anything, had not indicated such a thing and Catelyn had only choice but to believe that the woman was alive. 

Some part of her felt for the woman. Catelyn could not imagine being separated from her children, but some other part of her… 

Catelyn shook her head and put her focus back on watching her husband demonstrate the ways to protect themselves. Ned motioned for Theon Greyjoy to come forward and show a proper stance since he was much closer in height to Robb and Jon, despite being a few years older. 

Her husband’s ward was not the best of boys. She knew full well that he frequented the brothel of Wintertown, but Catelyn also knew that Ned saw some worth in the boy beyond being a hostage to make sure Lord Balon stayed in line. Catelyn could also see how much the boy longed for some sort of acknowledgement from Ned that was far too much like Robb or Jon Snow. In part, she thought he might want to be a Stark or connected to their family in such a way that would be a sort of acceptance that is occasionally granted to wards of high statuses. 

She wondered, perhaps, if an agreement could be made between Theon and Celia. The two were close enough in age and Celia’s sweeter nature might dull the boy’s sometimes acidic wit. It would be a way to tie the Iron Islands to the North and even allow for some freedom for Celia and even curb some of Theon’s own baser tendencies that seemed to be running off a little on Robb. Theon would not wish to dishonor Lord Stark’s daughter. 

Catelyn would speak to her husband tomorrow on the idea when he might be more agreeable to it. 

—

Catelyn sighed beneath Ned as he kissed at her neck and, nuzzling her just below her ear in the spot that always sent a thrill up her spine. 

“Ned,” she gasped as he buried himself deep inside her before spilling. Her husband settled atop her, burying his face into his shoulder as he caught his breath and hugged her close to his body. 

Catelyn kissed his hair and his temple as he sighed in content himself. 

“Have I pleased you?” Ned asked, his voice gruff. He lifted his head and Catelyn pressed a tender kiss to his lips. 

“More than I can say,” she said, his fingers tangling in her red hair as he brought her in for another kiss. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At first the POVs were just going to be Robb and Celia, but I decided I wanted Cat to have POV chapters in this as well and it works SOOOO well considering. So, I hope you enjoy them!
> 
> And gosh, I had this idea for a dress for Cat and I just went with it. It’s probably because I’ve gotten a few asks about clothes. So there we go. And here’s an example of Cat also having an actual friend in the keep. FEMALE FRIENDSHIPS George. They are a thing and indeed important.
> 
> More insight on her thoughts on Celia. Celia being a girl makes it easier for Cat to empathize with and to not feel threatened by. Also, I love the little interaction between the Starkling girls 🥰
> 
> Cat’s thoughts on Jon are still not great, but, like she mentioned, she knows too much about the history of bastards trying to usurp their trueborn brother’s place. Also, do you think Ned will agree to such a match between Celia and Theon?
> 
> And Ned and Cat being the OG heathy couple on the show.


	4. Celia II

She was sixteen. 

She was a woman grown and yet her cheeks still retained the youthful roundness of childhood. Her dresses still occasionally went to only her ankles and her lips were yet to ever be painted. Her hair, though, was now pinned and braided in such a way to let any Northman know that she was old enough to be wedded and bedded if a man was inclined to. 

It was a strange thing to find herself now closer to twenty than to ten. To be a woman and a child all at once. It was as though nothing had changed and yet she was not the same girl she had been before the morn of her nameday. 

She could sense the shift about her and suddenly wondered what it exactly meant for her. What did this newfound womanhood mean to her, a bastard of one of the greatest lords of Westeros. 

Celia was of a marriageable age. If she were her father’s trueborn daughter, like Sansa, she would be receiving countless proposals from lords all across the realm. She would be the most sought after hand, with even princes and kings from across the narrow sea asking to take her as a bride. 

However, her lord father had yet to make any arrangements even close to those things. He had not even attempted to breach the subject with her, shifting the conversation elsewhere whenever she tried to speak of it. She was a bastard after all. What right did a bastard have to high lords or princes or kings? While she was someone of importance to her father, to her brothers and sisters, and even Lady Stark, to a degree, she was nothing but a bastard to the rest of the world. 

She was the smudge on Lord Eddard Stark’s honor. A black stain upon his pride. She and her brother were Snows and that was all they would probably ever be. What person would wish to have their son marry a bastard? Even a noble one. 

She had noticed Lady Stark encouraging Celia to spend time with Theon Greyjoy. 

He was more into his manhood than anyone else close to Celia’s age. He was twenty and, well, experienced. It was no secret that he often visited the brothels of Wintertown, with Robb following him occasionally. Jon had accompanied them once, but he had only gone the once, not finding any pleasure in it at all. 

However, despite this, Theon was a handsome man and could be charming when he wanted to be. He was tall and lean and dark and just... handsome. He had a cocky smile that Celia could see was a show. He was not the best with children, but she could tell that he tried to take on a more brotherly role to Bran and Rckon especially. He was Robb’s best friend too. Jon did not particularly care for him, but Jon was always a little judgemental over men who slept around, although he didn’t seem to hold the same standard for Robb. 

But that was all beside the point. 

Celia wondered if Lady Stark was attempting to make a match between her and Theon. In all honesty, Celia could see the appeal of it. Theon was the youngest of his siblings, but with all his brothers dead, he was the heir to the Pyke and would need a lady wife by his side. Celia had heard that the Greyjoys didn’t think much about bastards or the birth of a woman, just her appearance. 

While that was a thought of concern for her, she trusted Theon. He was kind to her, even if he made fun of Jon for his bastard status. Her father had raised Theon long enough that Celia felt her father’s honor must have rubbed off on him at least a little bit.

She wondered if her lord father would agree to such a match or, perhaps, he had an idea of his own. If he did, Celia was completely and utterly unaware of it. 

—

“I think I will join the Night Watch,” Jon said as they laid down in his private chambers, staring at the ceiling. 

It had become a habit for the two of them, staring up at the ceiling as they talked over what they wished to do in the future and what they no doubt needed to do as well. 

Celia looked at her brother in confusion. “What?”

“Join the Night Watch,” he repeated. “Just like Uncle Benjen.”

Celia sat up and looked down at her twin brother, who did not even have the decency to look her in the eye. “I thought you wanted to get married and have a family of your own,” she said suspiciously. “You always talked about a family.” 

“What lady would want me as her or her daughters’ husband?” he asked. “I am Lord Stark’s bastard. I doubt there are any girls lining up to catch my notice.”

“There are plenty of girls who do so. Of that I have no doubt.”

Jon sighed. “In Wintertown, perhaps, but in Winterfell, I doubt it. They would not see me as a potential husband, rather as temporary entertainment.”

Celia frowned. “Perhaps Father has a plan for us?” she suggested.

“If he does,” Jon said. “He has not shared it with you or me. I believe Father wishes us all to remain as children for the rest of our lives. However, we cannot stay innocent youths forever and we must grow.”  
“And what of me?” Celia asked. “What do you think might happen to me?”

Jon sighed. “I don’t know. Our circumstances are so different and yet so familiar. I’m sure Father has some sort of plan for you.” He frowned. “But you aren’t a threat to Robb’s place in Winterfell as I am.”

It was her turn to frown again. “Neither are you,” Celia countered. “We would never try to take Robb or Sansa’s place in all this.”

“It matters not if we don’t want to,” he said. “Others might seek to use us for their own gain. I would rather not risk it. Besides, we have always known that we could not remain in Winterfell forever.” 

Celia laid back down beside him. “I know.” 

She would always have the blood of Winterfell running through her veins, but some deep part of her had always known that she would have to leave it one day. She was a bastard. One day, she would never know how soon, she might be asked to leave and never come back. She hoped that it was to go with or to a husband, but she did not know for certain. Her father would have to let them both go at some point. However, even if she left Winterfell, it would always be her home and the place her heart cried to whenever she would think of the word _home._

—

It was a feast unlike anything Celia had ever seen. The great hall, or what she assumed was the great hall, was large, grander than anything in her imagination. It was as though it were made for giants. There were so many in the room as well. There was dancing and singing, just like Lady Stark’s stories of the South. Whatever keep she was in had to be great. However, Celia could see the slight sense of unrest and the image of perfection, but she could see the high walls were dark and uncared for and the chairs and tables were old, in a fashion that Celia had not seen before. 

It was as though it were all a facade, yet…

It was still beautiful. 

People swirled about her as the music swelled and cried and Celia felt herself getting pulled in by it, weaving herself around as she looked for someone, anyone she knew. She saw men she assumed were Northmen and a man dressed like Uncle Benjen beseeching some knights to join the Night Watch, with the armor clad men snickering and smiling. She saw a handsome large man, a giant himself, drinking with a man. They were laughing and trading stories that Celia could not hear. 

Then, she saw a man, boy really, who looked so very much like Jon that her heart pounded in her chest. He was just as solemn as Jon, although his features were a little darker, with grey eyes instead of brown. 

“Father,” Celia said, trying to push her way through the crowd towards him, trying to reach out to him. 

Then, there came music so unlike anything Celia had ever heard before. She turned and saw a man dressed in black and red, his silver hair tied back, pulled away from his face, leaning against the main table, a harp in his hands. 

_High in the halls of the kings who are gone_

_Jenny would dance with her ghosts_

_The ones she had lost and the ones she had found_

_And the ones who had loved her the most_

_The ones who'd been gone for so very long_

_She couldn't remember their names_

_They spun her around on the damp old stones_

_Spun away all her sorrow and pain_

_And she never wanted to leave_

_Never wanted to leave_

_Never wanted to leave_

_Never wanted to leave_

Celia covered her ears. There was something wrong with the song. She had heard Sansa hum it on occasion, and Lady Stark too, but her father loathed the song, leaving the room whenever the first cord was strummed by whatever minstrel he had brought North to entertain Lady Stark and Sansa. The song was so horrid and sad, yet it was sung with such love and affection that Celia could hardly believe it. 

A commotion drew her away from the song as a girl that looked like Arya poured wine over a younger boy’s head. Then, an older boy dressed in Stark colors approached the boy Celia thought was her father, a beautiful girl with purple eyes on his arms. 

“You should dance at least once, Ned,” the boy said with a cheeky grin. “You might as well dance the last one.” 

“I wouldn’t want to impose,” Celia’s father said nervously. “I’m not a good—”

“Come along, Lord Eddard,” the girl said with a kind smile. “We would not want these Southron lords to think any less of you. I am certain Lord Arryn has given you lessons.” 

Celia’s father blushed crimson and stood, offering the girl his hand as he took her out onto the dance floor. 

She tried to follow her father as the dancing began, but suddenly the hall went quiet, the music stopped so suddenly that Celia became dizzy by it. The doors to the hall had opened and an old man surrounded by men in white cloaks entered. His silvery grey beard was tangled and his hair was matted and unwashed. His nails were long and yellow like claws. 

It was madness. Celia’s stomach churned. Madness. 

—

“And this one’s for you,” Robb said, placing a dark grey puppy in Celia’s arms. 

She looked at the small creature in surprise. She had thought that hers might be the one that Jon was holding. 

“The other one is Sansa’s,” Robb told her. “She’s off to find a ribbon for her. They were the quietest and the gentlest and we didn’t want to place them with the others since they might get riled up. This girl is yours though.” 

Celia looked down at her pup, who had strange blue eyes that didn’t seem quite blue. However, the little thing licked at her cheek and Celia smiled, giggling slightly at the sensation. “She's beautiful.” 

“What are you going to name her?” Robb asked. 

“What has everyone else named theirs? Rickon doesn’t count.” 

“Well, Rickon named his Shaggydog. Mine is Grey Wind. Sansa’s is Lady. Arya’s is Nymeria, Bran’s is Summer, Jon’s is Ghost.” 

“Hm,” Celia hummed, letting the wolf pup nuzzle her neck. “I think I like Shadow.” 

Robb grinned. “Shadow it is then.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some more thoughts on being a bastard and also talk of Theon. We’ll get a bit more about him connected to Celia in a lot of chapters. No, they aren’t endgame, but they will be important to one another. 
> 
> Jon talking about joining the Night Watch and the discussion of them having the blood of Winterfell, and yet...
> 
> More flashbacks! Yay! And this time it’s about Harrenhal!
> 
> And Celia’s direwolf is Shadow. But what comes after the direwolves 😱


	5. Robb II

“The royal family is coming?” Sansa asked. Robb’s younger sister’s blue eyes sparked in interest. He could not blame her. Having the royal family visit was always an honor, but he knew that Sansa was interested due to her love of the songs about princes and princesses. Even Bran seemed excited at the prospect, most likely for the knights rather than the royals. “When will they arrive?” 

“In two, possibly three, months time,” their father said carefully. “It takes a while for them to travel here and they may stop at other keeps along the way, but their main goal is to come to Winterfell and visit.” 

“Is the king coming to ask you to be his Hand, my lord?” Celia asked, standing next to Jon at one side of the rest of the Stark children. 

“And what makes you ask that, Celia?” their father asked. 

Celia blushed as the others looked to her. “Lord Arryn has recently passed away and you are the only other lord that was raised by him as the king was, perhaps he trusts you the most when it comes to helping the people as a Hand should.” 

Their father chuckled. “Perhaps.” He turned his attention to the rest of them. “However, regardless, we must prepare for the royal family’s arrival. They will have a large retinue and I need all of the older children, so that excludes Bran and Rickon, to help in making sure the servants properly prepare the Keep. We have plenty of room in Winterfell, but we need to make sure that it is acceptable for those who have not lived in the North for long. Our way of life might be seen as plain to many, but we are Starks and we must show them that even a world of grey and white can have its wonder.”

“Yes, father,” Robb and his siblings said.

“Yes, Lord Stark,” Jon and Celia replied instead. 

“You are all dismissed,” he said. “You, no doubt, have lessons you need to return to. We shall begin the preparations tomorrow.”

The Stark children filed out, whispering amongst themselves. 

“Do you think the Imp will be there?” Arya asked. “Do you think it’s true that he might be shorter than I am?”

“Is it because he doesn’t eat his vegetables?” Rickon asked. 

“It might be,” Celia said, ignoring Arya’s question. “Although I think it would be more proper to call the man by his title. He is the queen’s brother and deserves some respect.” 

“What will it mean if Father becomes the king’s Hand?” Jon asked aloud. “Wouldn’t that mean he will leave the North?”

“Does that mean we’ll never see Father again once he leaves?” Sansa asked, horrified. She looked to Robb. “Does that mean you will become the Warden of the North?”

Robb’s stomach flipped at the thought. “I don’t know.”

The thought frightened him a bit. He was not ready, at least he didn’t think he was, to become the acting head of the North. He had so much to learn and so little experience. While his mother would no doubt be there, how was he to fill the shoes his father left behind? His father was so loved and well respected by their people due to his honor and his accomplishments in battle. Robb had very few of those things. His stomach churned. What if he failed? 

What if he wasn’t ready?

—

He didn’t go as often as Theon did, but Robb did occasionally venture into the brothel of Wintertown. Theon seemed to go almost every other day, but Robb visited about once a week and, sometimes, not even that. He thought it was just a thing he was supposed to do. It was natural and what all lords and the son of lords did. 

He was always careful to make sure there was no chance at a bastard though, even though it was common for lordlings to have a bastard or two. 

Theon had a little girl he sent some of his allowance too, which is why the Ironborn was as careful as ever when it came to where he planted his seed. Robb had met the girl a few times with Theon, on his father’s urging to do right by the child. She took after Theon, although her eyes were a dark, almost chocolate, brown. She was two now and rather adorable. Theon thought so too, showering the girl with gifts when he was able to. The girl’s mother had married a man outside of Wintertown, although her parents remained and that’s where the little girl, Alannys, stayed. 

Robb knew his Uncle Brandon had three bastards before he was killed. There was Selene, who was already married to a blacksmith in White Harbor, with a little boy of her own. Then there was Torrhen, who had died during the Greyjoy Rebellion during a raid. Then there was Harlon who had decided to join the Night Watch three years ago. 

The king was known to have over a handful of bastards too. 

And his father, of course, had Jon and Celia. 

It was just how things were, he supposed.

Even so, he could see how Jon and Celia and his cousins had been treated and did not wish to have any child of his own treated in such a way. Besides, he could see how it occasionally pained his mother when it came to the twins. In the regard of bastards, Robb could at least be better than his father. 

That day, Robb picked a girl with raven dark hair and eyes like a deer. She was pretty, a slight smirk upon her lips and long legs that straddled his hips perfectly as she peppered his face with kisses. 

He had been a fumbling fool when he first came to the brothel with Theon, completely unsure of himself and spilling even before he had the chance to be inside the girl he had been with. Now, though, he was more confident and sure of himself. 

Even so, as he found his pleasure and gave the girl some in return, he was sure to spend outside of her, letting his seed spill on her lightly tanned stomach. 

He would not father a bastard. 

He would not. 

—

Celia was sitting on the gate of one of the pens as Robb, Jon, and Theon were practicing their swordsmanship. One of the lords of a nearby keep was visiting and his wife was sitting in on the sewing circle, which meant that Celia was not allowed to be there. So, instead, she spent her time watching the boys practice with their dulled blades. 

“What if we held a sparring match?” Theon suggested. “See who is the best out of the three of us.”

“Please,” Jon huffed. “Why would you want to do that? You aren’t even that much better than us at the sword, Robb’s way better.” 

Robb would argue that Jon was actually the more skilled out of the three of them. He could sense his brother holding back whenever the two of them sparred together. Part of him was ticked off at how his brother didn’t seem to take their sparring seriously, but understood that people would whisper if Jon were to win and it would not be about his sword skills. 

“Perhaps I will work harder if there is a prize,” Theon said cheekily. 

“And what prize would that be?” Robb asked. 

“Whoever wins gets a kiss from Celia.” Theon turned towards her and winked.

Robb’s eyes followed the Ironborn’s gaze and saw that Celia, although her face had remained emotionless, was too still and a dark blush had crept along her cheeks. She quickly looked away as though she hadn’t heard Theon’s suggestion. 

“Don’t flirt with my sister, you prick,” Jon said, his tone dangerously past annoyed. 

Theon shrugged. “It's something to fight for.” He looked to Celia again. “What do you say, Celia? A kiss to whoever wins?” 

Robb watched as Celia continued to blush and then shrugged. “I suppose.” 

“Excellent,” Theon cheered, clapping his hands together. “Alright. Shall we start?”

It was obvious that Theon was trying a little harder than usual when it came to their sparring matches. They got Ser Rodrik to weigh in on who was winning and, by the end, who won. It was Robb who was claimed as victorious and he could see Jon deflate only slightly, although it might have been more in relief than anything. If Theon had one, he would have claimed a kiss on the lips from Celia instead of a peck on the cheek, which is what Robb gave her. 

Robb pressed his lips to her cheek and was shocked at how soft and warm it was. She also smelled like winter roses and the slightest hint of a warm fire. Robb pulled away and saw that Celia’s cheeks had turned an even darker shade of red. The sun seemed to decide to show itself at that exact moment and for a second or two, Celia’s dark brown eyes seemed to be a different color entirely. It was still dark, but there was something quite beautiful about them too. 

And, for some reason, his stomach flipped ever so slightly at the sight of it. 

—

Robb hesitantly knocked on his father’s door even though he had been called to see him.  
“Come in,” came his father’s deep voice. 

Taking a deep breath, he opened the door and closed it behind him shortly after. “You needed to speak with me, Father?” 

“I did,” his father nodded. “Take a seat.”  
His father’s solar was a grand thing to behold. The only places within the keep that were greater were the sept and the godswood. The lord’s solar was filled with books, all ledgers of the keep’s finances as well as records of every person who resided within the keep and those who relied upon it. There was even a list of all of the other lords of the North and their families. It was how Lord Arryn had apparently taught Robb’s father to do things. Robb’s grandfather had not been one to organize in such a way. His father liked to say that his own father’s mind was like a trap. Once he heard or saw something, he would always be able to remember it. Robb’s father was not so mindful when it came to remembering smaller details, which was why he had so many ledgers and other things as well. 

Robb sat in the chair opposite his father. “What is it you wanted me to speak to you about?”

“As you know it is highly likely that Robert will ask me to be his Hand. This will leave you and your mother in charge of Winterfell.” Robb nodded. “This means you would be acting Lord of Winterfell and need to begin acting accordingly. Which means no more visiting the brothel in Wintertown.”

Rebb felt his cheeks burn with embarrassment. “Yes, Father.” 

“It will also be your duty to make sure your brothers and sister attend their lessons and do as they are told. You can’t act as their brother while I am gone. You need to act as their father and lord too.”

“Yes, Father,” Robb said, bowing his head. “I will try to make you proud.” 

“You already do, Robb,” his father said. “You already do.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Seeing some more Starkling interactions as they discuss what the king coming to Winterfell means.
> 
> Robb being not as much as a man whore as Theon is, but still some of his thoughts on bastards and mentioning that Brandon did in fact have bastards, although they are unnamed as Martin only mentioned them in an interview. So they probably weren’t widely known.
> 
> Theon being the flirt that he is and our first Roblia interaction of any importance.
> 
> And Ned and Robb have a talk. They will have more before he leaves South as well.
> 
> I also made a gif set of Celia [here](https://fromtheboundlesssea.tumblr.com/post/622388840365228032/she-was-the-smudge-on-lord-eddard-starks-honor-a)


	6. Catelyn II

“She is sixteen, Ned,” Catelyn said, sitting next to her husband. “Nearly a woman grown. I know that she is your bastard and that makes things more difficult. But surely you have thought of some sort of match for her. You made the match for Brandon’s daughter, Serena, and she is quite happy in her state of motherhood. Do you not want the same thing for Celia.” 

“Serena and Celia are very different, Cat,” her husband said. “Serena was already half in love with her husband by the time I went to visit White Harbor to discuss marriages with her. Celia knows very little about men or anything outside of Winterfell.” 

“You cannot protect her forever,” Cateyln urged. “We must find a place for her where she might be safe and happy. Surely you have put some thought into it.”

“No, Cat, I had not.” 

Catelyn frowned. Had he made no thought for his baseborn children? She knew that Jon had talked of joining the Night Watch for she had heard Sansa and Celia discussing it, but to Catelyn’s knowledge Ned seemed only slightly against the idea. But if that were so, surely that meant he had a plan for them. If not, why not?

“I was betrothed to your brother when I was twelve and we married when I was eighteen. Surely you have some idea of who you might wish to marry Celia to.”

“I do not.” Ned shook his head. “If Celia wishes to speak to me of such things, she can.” 

“She is a sweet girl, Ned, and I can see her desire for motherhood and wifehood. She is like most girls her age and dreams of romance and knights, but she is well aware that she is a bastard. I have no doubt that she merely does not wish to overstep herself.” Catelyn chewed her lip slightly. “What of Theon Greyjoy? He seems to hold an interest in her and by marrying him to Celia, it brings the Ironborn closer to House Stark and creates an alliance, not just a boy serving as his father’s hostage. It would feel more like a fostering then.” 

“I doubt that Balon Greyjoy would accept such a match beyond Celia being Theon’s salt wife, and that is something I will not have.” 

Catelyn sighed, but nodded. She knew that he had a point. Balon Greyjoy, she supposed, was much like Walder Frey in the Twins. No, she would not want a sweet girl like Celia to have a good father like that. 

She reached out and placed her hand over Ned’s. “You must think on these things, Ned,” she said. “The children will not remain children forever. We must begin planning or else there might be chaos.” 

“Mother!” a shriek came from Bran running down the hall. “Rickon chewed my toy sword!”

Ned lifted her hand and placed a kiss upon her knuckles. “I fear chaos has already found us, my love,” he said. “Let us go and see if we cannot get this sorted.”

—

Catelyn busied herself around the keep as the wagons of food King Robert Baratheon had brought for his visit arrived ahead of his party. It was a welcomed thing, now they could properly plan the feast. They could take stock of what they had and what they needed. It would be busy work, but if the king and queen enjoyed their welcome feast, then all would be worth it. 

It had been many years since Winterfell had hosted a king of Westeros and Catelyn intended it to be a fine celebration, despite the constant worry that the king meant to take her husband away. Perhaps he merely wished to ask for Ned’s council and her husband would remain in Winterfell with her and their children. Perhaps Robert Baratheon merely wished to introduce his new Hand to Ned. Perhaps the king merely wished to see his oldest friend again. 

Regardless of what the king was coming for, they needed to prepare. 

Sansa and Celia followed after Catelyn, helping her carry things that needed to be carried and helping the maids with minor decisions. It was hectic, but it was moments like this that Catelyn knew she was blessed with her eldest daughter and her husband’s eldest daughter. It would be impossible to do everything that she needed to do without any help. It would be even more impossible if Ned had not taken the rest of the children out of the keep so that she might be able to focus without Bran or Rickon running to her to kiss a skinned knee or a hurt finger. She loved all her children dearly, but she needed to focus. The queen was a Lannister, and Cersei Lannister for that matter, they needed to impress her most of all. Robert Baratheon would be pleased with mead and Ned, the Lannister queen was a different matter. 

Catelyn could recall a time her father had attempted a match between her sister Lysa and the Kingslayer, before he had run his sword through the Mad King’s back. She had thought it a wise match, but Jaime Lannister had shown more interest in Uncle Brynden than he had in Lysa and any talk of such things diminished entirely. 

Catelyn shook her head, now was not the time to dwell on the past. She needed to focus so that everything was ready for when the royal party arrived. She would make Ned proud, making sure that his friend and the southron lords were welcome. 

—

Since Catelyn was a girl and her mother had died, she had known what her future would be, or at least a vague outline as though she were seeing it through the fog. She always knew that she would be in charge of running a great keep and the one to oversee its people and all those who found a home within its walls. She knew that she would be a mother. She had helped raise her brother after her mother’s death, doing the best that she could to be a mother and sister both, and now she was a mother of five. She knew that she would come North and marry a Stark. 

She could remember not quite understanding that she would one day leave the halls of Riverrun and would, quite possibly, never return with how far north Winterfell was. However, she knew that her future husband was North and would sometimes turn to face that direction and pray for her future husband’s good wealth and fortune. At first, she had thought her husband would be Brandon, the name sounding sweet to the heart of a girl who knew very few men, much less Northmen. When she had first laid eyes upon him, she thought him handsome, despite the rumors of his wildness. He was to be hers and she was to be his. Her young heart and mind was ready and willing to be his wife, but it was only ever going to be an almost. 

Brandon Stark would not have matched her expectations. Although he had been kind to her, it had been a sort of forced kindness that one was expected to bestow on a person you were to share your life with. He gave mercy to Petyr when they dueled, but only because she asked him. Had she said nothing, she was convinced that Brandon would have killed him without ever truly asking if the boy he had been then wished to yield. And then, he had died, killed by a mad king and the life Catelyn had long expected was dashed away and her life thrown into temporary chaos. 

But then, she had married Ned, her sweet Ned. And she could not imagine any life beyond the one they had made together. Whatever girlhood passion she might have had for Brandon would have cooled and, with the young man’s temper, there was no guarantee that she would have been able to bring herself to fully love him. However, what Catelyn had for her husband, for Ned, was the first decision she had made on her own without the interference of her father or fate. 

She would manage Winterfell in his absence, but he would return to her, she knew it, for the deep south was no place for a Northman. She wondered how her father had been able to manage after her mother had died. Perhaps that had been the shift she had not understood then. 

Catelyn loved Ned. He was the very air that she breathed and a life without him would be no life at all. She could not imagine herself without him. A life without Ned could hardly be called a life at all. 

—

Although she usually prayed in the sept, and Sansa and her youngest two would often come with her, Catelyn found herself heading towards the godswood. Her children were of the North, descendents of the First Men and the King’s of Winter. There was magic there too, or so the stories said. When Catelyn had heard such things, she didn’t think they could possibly be true. But then the direwolves were found and each had chosen a master to follow, even little Rickon had been given a direwolf pup. So, it was to the godswood that she went to pray as well.

People usually swore on the old gods and the new. Surely that meant she was welcome to make her own prayers before the weirwood tree. 

The godswood was large and nothing like the one held in Riverrun and did not hold the same sort of significance it held there either. This place was holy. Perhaps it might have been one of the last places to be tended to by the legendary children of the forest. And it was here that many Stark women had come to pray, for much longer than any Tully had prayed in a sept. 

Even so, Catelyn never truly felt like she belonged there. It felt as though she were always intruding upon the wood, the wind whispering about her as though it knew that she did not belong there. She felt like an outsider, even when she brought her children with Ned to seek guidance and prayer before the old gods. It was as though they knew her blood was not as old or loyal as the Starks of Winterfell. 

However, that did not stop her that day, even though Ned was inside and not the one standing next to her. She felt a little peace when she knew she was walking towards her husband, always making sure she felt welcome. But he was inside, helping prepare for the arrival of the king and his party in a few days time. 

Catelyn reached the heart tree, with bone white bark and red leaves and a solemn face carved into its trunk, the dry sap made the cuts look more pronounced and looked like dried blood. It was a frightening thing. Robb had not liked the look of it in his childhood, but had grown used to it as the years went by. She could remember a young Celia going to the tree and pressing her lips to the bark near the face as though to whisper her prayers into the ear of the old gods. 

Catelyn sat upon one of the many large roots of the weirwood tree and took a deep breath. No one else was in the woods but her. 

“Whatever may come,” she began softly. “Whatever choices are made. Please look after them, I beg you.” She closed her eyes and placed her hand upon the bark of the trunk. “Protect House Stark and its children. Let us not fall as we did during the Rebellion. Let us find peace, even though there will be change. I have asked this of the Seven, but I ask this of you, as well. Watch over the children. May they find happiness in whatever path they are led.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Although she is wrong about betroth in’s Celia to Theon, she isn’t wrong that Ned REALLY should have been thinking about the future of his children, especially Jon and Celia since they don’t have the Stark name to protect them. 
> 
> Readying everyone for the royal family’s arrival. And LOOK, Robert sent food ahead since he’s bringing a massive party with him. 
> 
> Catelyn loves Ned and she can’t really say she would have fallen for Brandon. Thank you for coming to my TED talk. 
> 
> And Catelyn prays before the weirwood. 😘
> 
> Next chapter is Celia’s and the royal family arrive. She will have some opinions on Jaime, I know you guys want that. But it will also be a little sad at the end.


	7. Celia III

The first and only time Celia had ever been kissed on the lips had been with Theon. She had been curious as to what it was like and it wasn’t as though she could ask one of her brothers for a kiss. It had been nothing special, although, being as young as she had been at the time, Celia thought it meant that she and Theon might get married. He was a hostage, although her father probably preferred the term of ward, and she was only a bastard. Surely a pair like that wouldn’t be too frowned upon. 

However, Theon showed little care when it came to her heart in that brief moment of childhood infatuation. Theon was a flirt, and still teased her for kisses on the occasions she watched him and her brothers spar, but that was because he knew it could get under Jon and Robb’s skin. Theon flirted with anyone in a skirt and Celia knew well enough that Theon visited the brothels to wet his cock whenever he felt the need. She even knew of his bastard Alannys. Celia had sewed a few dresses for the small girl, as the child’s grandmother was not always well enough to sew anything for her. 

She had met her Uncle Brandon’s bastard, Harlon, who had the stark look, save for his deep green eyes. He had joined the Night Watch a few years ago and had stayed in Winterfell for a few nights. He had been a kind young man from what Celia could remember. He had felt more comfortable with Celia and Jon than he had with the other children of Winterfell. He and Uncle Benjen were to come and visit for when the king arrived with his family. It would be so sweet to see them both again. 

But the thought of bastards and Theon’s wandering led Celia to think of Robb’s visits to the brothel of Wintertown. There were no bastards by her brother and Celia knew that he was careful, not wishing to shame his mother by bringing a baseborn child of his own into Winterfell. Her own father, for all his honor and goodness, had two bastards. Surely that meant he had slept with one woman enough that he was able to get her with children, even though he would have been married to Lady Stark. 

Celia supposed it was just how men were. They had bastards and could not be pleased with only their lady wives in their bed. It hurt to think of such things, but it felt as though it were the truth. Surely if even her lord father bedded Celia’s mother although he was already married meant that no man was safe from such an act, that no wife was safe from having her husband being unfaithful. 

The thought made Celia’s head spin. She would make sure that Sansa and Arya, at least, would find husbands that were not like this. She would make sure that her younger sisters were matched with someone worthy of their affections who would never, not in a million years, break their hearts.

—

Celia stood between her twin brother and Theon, just behind the trueblood Starks as they watched the royal party arrive. She had never seen so many people. Everyone in the North seemed to have dark hair and dark features, however, the southerners seemed to be like Lady Stark, with porcelain skin and brightly colored hair and clothes. Celia had never seen such brightly colored clothes before. Even though Sansa and Lady Stark wore blue and the occasional red, she had never seen such vibrant greens and yellows and oranges before. It was like a garden of sorts. And then there was the perfumed air that seemed to breeze on through as they came. It was mouthwatering. 

“Where is Arya?” Lady Stark asked. She turned to look at Celia. “Where is she?” 

Celia opened her mouth to speak, but Arya brushed past her parents, trying to get into the line next to Sansa, but their father stopped her.

“Hey, hey, hey,” he said. It was then that Celia noticed that Arya was wearing a soldier's helm. “What are you doing with that on?” 

He took it off her and Arya rushed to stand between Sansa and Bran, pushing her younger brother slightly as she did so. Celia turned her attention back to the royal party as a young blond boy, who Celia could only guess was the crown prince pulled up on a horse. At first, Celia was confused over what he was wearing. Then, she realized he was wearing a crest that had the sigils of both his mother and father’s houses. How strange. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Sansa straighten up at the sight of the prince and could also see Robb straighten as well, although it was probably more posturing than anything. 

Then, there came the king with a crown of antlers upon his head. At the sight of them, her father led their people into kneeling. While most did so gracefully, Rickon did so on unsteady feet and Lady Stark helped him down, her hand gently on his back to steady him. Although her head was down, Celia glanced up at the man who had started a rebellion for her Aunt Lyanna. 

She had heard stories that he had once been handsome, handsomer than the Silver Prince that had taken her aunt away. He was supposedly a man of a dark beauty with the power and might to wield a hammer with such force as to kill a man on the spot. However, the man who stood before them was none of those things. He was fat and red faced. She could see echoes of his once handsome features and she saw a man who wore Baratheon armor with green embellishments. She knew him to be the king’s younger brother, Renly Baratheon, she had heard of him being talked about in brief whispers between her father and Lady Stark. Something had been said about biting a pillow, but Celia had no idea what that had meant. 

The king motioned for Celia’s father to rise and they all followed him as he stood. 

“Your grace,” her father said, bowing his head slightly. 

The two men looked at one another and the king’s eyes narrowed. “You’ve gotten fat.” Celia’s mouth opened in shock. She could tell that Jon mirrored her expression, while Theon stifled a laugh on the other side of her. The two men began to laugh and then the king turned to Lady Stark. “Cat!” 

Lady Stark dipped in a curtsy. “Your grace.” 

The king embraced her in a hug as though she were his own sister before turning to Celia’s father once more. “It’s been six years, has it not? Why haven’t I seen you?” he demanded. “Where the hells have you been?” 

“Guarding the North for you, your grace,” Celia’s father said with a laugh. “Winterfell is yours.”

The king nodded his head before turning his attention to the Stark children. “Who have we here?” He stopped at Robb and took the Stark’s heir’s hand into his own. “You must be Robb. I can see anyone who shares my name has the looks to deserve it. Be glad you have your mother’s look boy,” he said with a laugh. “Your father wasn’t much of a looker in his youth.” He looked to Lady Stark. “I doubt even Brandon could match your son in his looks, Cat.” He then went to Sansa. “My, you’re a pretty one. I have no doubt the boys will fight over you. You have your mother’s coloring, but I can see the North in you.” He then looked to Arya. “And what is your name?” 

“Arya,” the youngest Stark girl replied. 

“A good strong name,” the king nodded. He motioned then to his head. “You have straw in your hair.” 

Arya blushed and Celia stepped forward to take the bit of straw out. She thought that the king had moved onto Bran, but when the king said nothing in his greeting to the second youngest Stark, Celia glanced up and found the king watching her carefully. He had a similar look in his eye that her father did. He looked as though he had seen a ghost. He opened his mouth to speak. 

“Celia,” her father’s voice cut through the tension and she stepped back in line with her brother and Theon. 

The king blinked and turned his attention, at last, to Bran. “Now, you remind me of Benjen last I saw him,” the king said. “Show us your muscles.” Bran grinned at the king happily and lifted his hand and flexed, although nothing could be seen beneath his sleeve. The king laughed. “You’ll be a soldier.” The king then began to greet a few of the Stark soldiers who had fought in the Greyjoy Rebellion. 

As he spoke, a man removed his golden helm and Celia was distracted by his beauty. He was a handsome man and he did not need Arya’s commentary to know who he was. Jaime Lannister, the queen’s twin brother. The Kingslayer. Celia blushed at the sight of him. He was so unlike any man that Celia had ever seen up North. She wondered, briefly, what he would look like if he smiled.

The queen then approached them, her hair like golden sunlight, dressed in beautiful fox fur and dressed in gold. 

“My queen,” Celia’s father said, taking the queen’s hand and kissing it. 

“My queen,” Lady Stark said with another curtsy. 

The queen smiled and Celia was struck by the queen’s beauty as well. It was matched in her brother’s and she looked radiant in her appearance, so mismatched with the king in that way. 

“Take me to your crypt, Ned,” the king said and all turned to him. “I want to pay my respects.” 

“We’ve been riding for a month, my love,” the queen said, her voice velvety and deep with authority. “Surely the dead can wait.”

The king ignored his wife and looked at Celia’s father. “Ned.” 

With that, he turned and Celia felt sorry for the queen. It seemed that the king was truly haunted by ghosts.

—

Celia had not been invited to the feast. Originally, she was to sit with some of the maids, but her father had pulled her aside to inform her that it would be better if she stayed in her own rooms for the evening instead of taking part in the feast, even if she was barely to take part at all. 

“But why, father?” Celia asked. Even Jon, who had made no real plans of joining in the feast, had taken offence. 

“It would not be viewed kindly by the royal family if my bastards were present, even a bastard daughter.” He had touched Celia’s cheek lovingly. “I’m sorry, sweet girl,” he had said. “But it’s safer this way.” 

She did not understand what her father meant by safer, but the rejection stung. Not once had her father ever truly put a distinction between herself and her trueborn siblings, but now she felt the difference keenly. 

Celia sat in her room, alone, a plate of food having been brought up for her to nibble on. She had ignored it in favor of sketching, something she had grown to do whenever she was upset. She drew many things, the people she had seen and the things she had noticed. But now she drew a cloak, a maiden cloak. Celia had never had great aspirations for what her wedding would look like, but she had always imagined a maiden’s cloak. She had imagined, perhaps, that she would be allowed to wear one with Stark colors, she had thought that, perhaps, her father would allow her to wear their house’s colors. But now, she knew and understood that, despite all his care and love for her and Jon… They were still his bastards. 

Tears began to drip down her nose as she could hear the revelry of the feast pouring out into the air from her window. Her tears began to muddy the sketches as she realized how truly trapped she was. She would never be able to change her fate, never be allowed to make herself greater. 

Jon would have a chance at glory within the Night Watch, his name being added to the list of great men who became the shield of the realm of men. But Celia? She was to drift into obscurity, with no mention of her name in histories or songs. The world might one day know her father had sired four sons, but they would say he had only fathered two daughters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We’ll get to meet Harlon Snow next chapter. Yay!
> 
> We also had Celia seeing Jaime. Robert saw Celia too. What do you guys think of that? 😏
> 
> And Celia deserves all the hugs! 😭😭😭


	8. Robb III

It was obvious that Celia had been crying the night before. Her eyes were slightly puffy and dull in the way Arya’s did whenever their mother put her foot down at one of her antics. However, Robb knew full well that his bastard sister’s tears were not due to a tantrum, but rather true and utter grief. 

The night before, during the feast, Robb had expected to see his sisters sitting amongst the servants who were allowed a day's rest after setting up the keep for the royal party’s arrival. Perhaps she would have even been speaking to one of the lower ranking women who had come along with the king. However, he had not seen her at all. He had not seen Jon either. Robb had seen Harlon though. His older bastard cousin, a man in his late twenties, had been the one to inform him where the twins had gotten themselves. 

“Uncle Benjen is speaking to Jon, he was attacking a training dummy with a purpose.”

“Why was he doing that?” Robb asked. 

“Jon’s just mad at Uncle Ned for telling Celia that she couldn’t come to the feast,” Harlon shrugged. 

“He what?” Robb had asked, his mouth open. 

“Your father thought it best that she didn’t attend, didn’t think it would appeal to the king and queen to have his bastards at the feast.” 

“But he didn’t tell Jon not to come,” Robb paused. “Or you for that matter.”

Harlon shook his head. “I’m not his bastard. Besides,” he said. “I’m a member of the Night Watch, I’m hardly supposed to be interfering. Jon’s going to need to learn that he can’t take things so seriously once he joins.” 

Robb had stood there confounded. “Jon wants to join the Night Watch?”

Harlong grimaced. “I’m guessing you didn’t know?” 

Robb shook his head.

Harlon sighed and patted Robb on the back before heading over to greet the queen alongside Uncle Benjen. 

Robb looked at Celia now as she absently did some mending on one of Theon’s shirts. She hadn’t been allowed to sit in on the sewing circle, and wouldn’t until the royal family left. The princess was there and, apparently, the queen had made a face when she had seen Celia there. Theon had been passing by at the time and told Celia he had a shirt that needed mending and asked if she could follow him. It got Celia out of her awkward situation, but Robb could see the way she curved in on herself and seemed to want to fade into the background. 

“You’re just jealous because you’re a bastard,” Theon scoffed. 

Robb turned his attention back to his bastard brother and their father’s ward. 

“He is a prick,” Jon said, his annoyance obvious. Sansa had once likened the expression to a kitten tasting sour milk and Robb couldn’t see it any other way. 

“Maybe,” Theon said. “But he’s a royal one.” The older boy sighed. “You’re being no fun right now.” He turned to Celia, who had put down her mending and was basking in the brief glow of sunlight that had peaked through the clouds. “Oi, Celia.” She sighed herself and tilted her head forward, her raven hair spilling over her shoulders like ink, her eyes gleamed a different color than usual, but then the sun was gone and the color returned to normal. “How about if I win against these two idiots, I get a kiss. I am the best looking out of all the men who can wield a sword around here.” 

Celia smiled lightly at him. It wasn’t a full smile, but it warmed her cheeks and it reached her eyes. “I don’t know,” she said. “I think the Kingslayer is quite handsome. If you win a match against him, perhaps I would even kiss you on the lips.”    
“If I win,” Theon said. “I should get to kiss your other lips.”

Robb and Jon glanced between one another and both knocked Theon on the head, causing the Ironborn to yelp. Celia’s laughter rang through the courtyard like a bell. 

—

Robb was looking for Celia. Arya had gone off from her lessons again his mother was at her wits end. While Robb usually found his youngest sister’s antics to be funny, now was not the time. She had ruined the dress the queen had gotten for Sansa and even Robb had squirmed when he recognized the expensive southron fabric. Even their mother had only one gown of that make and it had been her wedding dress, lovingly stored and shown on the rare occasion that Sansa wished to see it. Robb’s mother had sent him to find Celia and help her find Arya. The youngest Stark daughter had realized her mistake, after Sansa had sat down and cried pitifully over the fact that she could not wear the dress gifted to her by the queen for the upcoming tea between her, their mother, the queen and the princess. 

Arya had made herself scarce, and now it was Robb’s duty to find her, but he needed Celia’s help to do it. 

Robb could not think of where Celia might be. Her normal schedule had been shifted ever since the royal family had arrived and their father had made it somewhat apparent that she should not show her face around their guests. 

“Your grace,” Celia’s voice came from around the corner. She sounded strained and as though a great weight was put upon her. 

She sounded distressed. 

Robb turned the corner quickly and found Celia struggling against the weight of the king as the grown man pawed at her dress as though trying to find the strength to pull it off, but unable to muster the skill. 

Celia’s eyes caught his and he could see his sweet sister near tears, her eyes wide and helpless. “Robb.” His name fell out of her lips like a small prayer and Robb felt his entire body burn with anger. 

A howl ripped through the air and Robb sprung forward, pulling the king with more strength than any sixteen-year-old should possess. He pushed Celia behind him and tried to make himself look as big as possible. “My father was looking for you, your grace,” Robb said firmly. “He’s in his solar now.” 

The king’s blue eyes narrowed, as though, for a moment he didn’t know who Robb was, but then his gaze cleared ever so slightly. The fat man straightened and turned, stumbling away. Robb watched him leave, made sure that he wasn’t coming back. He waited until he was gone before he turned to look at Celia.    
“Are you okay?” 

Celia did not answer, instead wrapping her arms around his waist and pressing her face in his chest. He could feel the warmth of her tears soaking against his tunic and Robb held her closer. He had only recently begun to grow taller than her, and he rested his head against her own, stroking down her back in soothing motions. He had seen his mother do it a few times with his other siblings and, for a moment, Robb wondered who had done it for Celia and Jon when they were small children. 

“I’m alright,” Celia whispered softly, although her body trembled still. 

Robb pressed his face into her hair as he sensed Grey Wind padding towards them. He glanced ahead of himself and saw that he and Shadow were coming towards them, jumping ever so slightly along the cold stones of the hall. Shadow sat behind Robb’s legs, leaning against him and he could feel the direwolf’s tongue lick along her mistress’ hands. Grey Wind sat down behind Celia, his eyes looking out as though to protect them for all and any intruders. 

“I’ve gotten snot on your tunic,” she said, pulling away from him slightly and Robb’s arms suddenly felt cold. 

“It’s fine,” he said. Robb cupped her chin with her thumb and forefinger and tilted her chin up. There it was again, that color that he couldn’t quite place in her eyes. It must have come from her mother. “Do you want me to tell Father what happened.” 

Celia’s eyes widened. “No,” she said quickly. “I don’t wish to bother Father about this. Or Jon either.” She looked down at her feet between them. “Can we keep this between us?” She looked up at him hopefully. “He was so drunk. I’m sure if he realized that I was Father’s bastard he wouldn't have done anything.”

Robb wasn’t sure. The king had practically had sex with a woman during the feast and had done so in front of the queen. “I promise not to say anything as long as you come to me if anything happens again.” She nodded. “And keep Shadow with you,” he said. “I would feel better if she were with you.” 

Celia smiled. “Alright.” 

—

“You will be in charge while I am gone,” his father said as they sat in the lord’s solar. “Your mother will help you run the keep as the Lady of Winterfell, but you would be the acting lord.” 

“Yes, Father,” Robb nodded. The idea of him running Winterfell made his stomach churn. He was ready, he knew he was. He had been training for such a thing ever since he was a child. But now… Now he still felt like a child… even now. “And Sansa and Arya will be going with you?” 

“And Bran,” his father added. “He’s been wanting to be a knight and I think it would do him good to see the land of knights.” 

Robb nodded. “So that leaves Rickon and Celia since Jon is going to the Wall.” He noticed his father’s hands tighten briefly into a fist, but he stopped almost immediately. “Father?” 

“Yes?” 

“I know that you and Mother will begin thinking about betrothals for me since you have already begun talking about betrothing Sansa to Prince Joffrey. Jon is going to the Wall and… Well… I…” 

“Yes?” 

“I was wondering if you were making such arrangements for Celia?” 

It was as though all air left the room. Robb’s father grew stiff and his face turned grey. “Figuring out a betrothal for a bastard is a tricky thing, Robb,” he said. “They need to be handled delicately.” 

“Then have the king legitimize her,” Robb insisted. “Jon’s going off to the wall, Celia isn’t as much of a threat to my place in Winterfell. If you give her the Stark name, she could easily—”

“Robb, you need not worry about Celia,” the older man said. “Everything will be taken care of immediately. For the moment, it is better that she not attain too much attention, not here.” 

Robb scowled. He could still see Celia’s puffy red eyes after their father had told her she wasn’t welcome at the feast.

—

“Robb! Jon!” 

The sound of Celia’s cries made Robb tighten his hold on the hilt of his sword on instinct. She ran into the training grounds, running into Jon’s arms. 

“What is it?” Jon asked. “What’s wrong?” 

“Bran’s fallen.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly, I feel like Theon makes the kissing bet to make Celia laugh when he notices that she’s down.
> 
> And Robb vs Robert.
> 
> Ned trying, but not knowing what to do. I love him, but he could have done better for Jon.
> 
> And Bran has fallen


	9. Catelyn III

Catelyn rushed to her son’s bedchamber. 

She had heard Celia’s scream echo across Winterfell and, for a moment, she feared the girl had been hurt, feared that her Stark blood had not protected her from men who should fear Ned’s wrath. It had done nothing to protect her husband’s sister Lyanna and she had seen how some men had looked at the girl in ways that Cateyln’s Sansa was protected from. 

But, then, Catelyn had heard others begin to shout and then, Jeyne Derry had rushed into Catelyn’s quarters, tears streaming down her pretty face. “It’s Bran, my lady,” she gasped. “He has fallen from the broken tower!” Her knees grew numb and she felt the world rushing towards her. “My lady!” 

Jeyne caught her arm and helped her down so that she wouldn’t hurt herself, but Catelyn felt her entire body burn at the memory of her smiling boy. She should have been stricter, she should have been firmer. 

_ “I saw the king!” Bran had said, his blue eyes bright as he climbed down from the wall. “He’s got hundreds of people.”  _

_ “How many times have I told you?” Catelyn said, trying to remain firm in her annoyance, but could not help the slight gleam of pride as her son balanced on his way down. He was more cat than wolf. Her son truly. “No climbing!”  _

_ “But he’s coming right now!” Bran said, jumping down. He stood before Catelyn, his smile wide. “Down the road!”  _

_ Catelyn shook her head. “I want you to promise me,” she said. “No more climbing.”  _

_ Bran looked down at his feet and then looked up at her again. “I promise.”  _

_ “Do you know what?” Catelyn asked her sweet boy. _

_ “What?”  _

_ Catelyn put her hands on her knees and bent slightly so that she was almost eye level with her son. “You always look at your feet before you lie.” Bran laughed and smiled up at her. _

She should have been more firm with him. Catelyn should have been firmer. 

She had Jeyne help her up as she began to rush to Bran’s room. The door was open and she found Maester Luwin standing over Catelyn’s little boy. Ned was there as well, his hand covering his mouth as he watched the maester look over him. 

He was so still, so very pale. 

“Bran,” she said in a broken whisper. Her voice cracked and Ned turned to look at her, walking over to her as her legs began to fail her again. Ned wrapped his arms around her as a scream ripped from Catelyn’s throat. Her boy. Her precious little boy. 

—

Catelyn did her best to create the center of the prayer wheel as she kept glancing at Bran. Her sweet boy had not opened his eyes or moved since his fall and Catelyn had barely left his side, only leaving once to check on Rickon. Almost everyone had stayed away from Bran’s room save for Maester Luwin, who checked Cateyln’s son almost hourly. 

Celia had been the one to stay close to Catelyn, helping her clean Bran and supporting him to get warm broth down his throat and watered down wine. Celia had attended to Catelyn as well, trying to get her to eat, at least a little, and making sure that a fresh dress was laid out and a bath was called. The sweet girl had done all that she could, nearly stepping up to some of the tasks normally relegated to Catelyn. 

“What is this?” she asked, taking her husband’s eldest daughter’s hand in her own, stilling her movements as she left tea on the table next to Catelyn. 

“It’s nothing, my lady,” Celia said quietly, but Catelyn would have none of it. 

She had seen the slight blemish upon the girl’s wrist and did not believe, could not believe, that it was what she thought it was. Catelyn lifted the girl’s sleeve and gasped. A bruise the size and shape of a man’s hand was wrapped around Celia’s arm. It was as though she had been violently grabbed. 

“Celia,” Catelyn began, but the girl pulled her arm away and pushed the sleeve down again. 

“It’s nothing,” Celia said, her cheeks losing their color.

“It is not nothing, Celia,” Catelyn insisted. “Who did this to you?” Utter horror, the same she had felt for Bran, churned in her stomach. The worry that had come at first hearing the girl’s screams returned. 

“I am still a maid,” the girl whispered. “I… It was stopped before anything could happen. Robb… Robb stopped it.” 

Relief briefly swept through Catelyn at Celia’s reassurance and a sense of thankfulness at eldest son being able to stop such a painful event from occurring. But it did not ease all of Catelyn’s worry. There was a man in their halls who would see fit to lay hands upon a girl who, by all accounts, was barely a woman. There was a man in Winterfell who had attempted to force Ned’s daughter to do one of the most intimate things a girl could and take away a precious memory that she would one day share with her husband. 

“Who did this, Celia?” Catelyn urged. “Your father will make it right. Such a man should not be allowed to remain in these walls.” 

“He is leaving soon,” Celia said. “And I have done my best to keep from him and Robb helps me as well.”

He was a member of the royal party then. Perhaps a steward or squire. Or even a knight. “We shall tell your father, surely he will have the king punish the man for such insolence.” 

Celia grew deathly pale. “Please do not tell Lord Stark,” she pleaded. “I… I do not wish for him to know. Please, my lady, he will be gone soon and I need not worry.” 

Catelyn felt her heart tighten in her chest. “Celia,” she said softly. “Was it the king who did this to you?” 

Tears began to slide down the girl’s cheeks. “Please don’t say anything, my lady. Please.” 

—

Catelyn continued to work on her prayer wheel. She had sent Celia to her room to rest, the poor girl had sobbed so painfully that, for a brief moment, Catelyn wished the girl’s mother was there. Catelyn could only comfort the girl so much as she worried for Bran as well. She wished that Celia’s mother was there to hold her in her arms and comfort her. Catelyn wished she had the words to speak to Ned of what had happened. She would speak to him, plead for him to stay, beg him to not take their daughters south. The last time the Starks had rode south… Catelyn didn’t even want to think of it. She cared not about Lysa’s letter. She cared not for the death of Jon Arryn. She needed her family in Winterfell. Duty and honor came last. Family was first. 

She needed her husband to put their family first. 

The door opened and Catelyn looked up and saw the queen entering her son’s chambers. The queen was dressed in red and a dull gold. A dark, almost grey, shawl wrapped around her body to keep out the chill. Catelyn had once had to dress like that, unaccustomed to the cold. 

Catelyn began to stand, remembering her courtesies. 

The queen smiled slightly, but raised her hand. “Please,” she said. “There is no need to get up on my account.” 

Catelyn stood regardless. Her body ached from sitting for too long. I would have dressed, your grace,” she said. “If I knew that you would be visiting.” She wore no outer dress, although she was still entirely decent. Even so…

“This is your home,” the queen said. “I am your guest. You need not concern yourself with such things at such a time. I am being selfish as it is to visit you like this.” The queen turned her gaze to Bran and something glimmered in her eyes. “Handsome one, isn’t he?” She said gently. 

This was the Cersei Lannister that Catelyn vaguely remembered from her youth, from the time that Lord Tywin had brought Ser Jaime to meet with Lysa. A Cersei that had appeared soft, and hopeful of a dream that would never be a reality now. Catelyn could remember the way Robert Baratheon had behaved during the welcoming feast, could recall the stiffness of the woman before her as the king welcomed a serving maid onto his lap for all to see. 

“I lost my first boy,” the queen said, pulling Catelyn from her thoughts. “A little black-haired beauty. He was a fighter too…” The queen’s lips quivered ever so slightly. “He tried to beat the fever that took him.” She looked away from Bran then. “Forgive me,” she said quickly. “It’s the last thing you need to hear right now.” 

Catelyn shook her head. Ned had never told her that the queen had lost a babe and she wondered if the king had even spoken to her husband about it. “I never knew.” 

“It was years ago,” Cersei said, looking off distantly. “Robert was crazed, beat his hands bloody upon the wall.” She chuckled bitterly. “The things men do to show you how much they care…” She looked at Catelyn then. “The boy looked just like him, such a little thing… They came to take his body away and Robert held me. I screamed and I battled, but he held me. That little bundle. They took him away and I never saw him again. Never visited the crypt, never.” Cersei bowed her head to Catelyn. “I pray to the Mother every morning and night that she return your child to you.” 

Catelyn bowed her head in return. “I am grateful.” 

Cersei smiled briefly. “Perhaps this time she’ll listen.”

—

Catelyn held her tongue as Jon Snow came to Bran’s room to wish him goodbye. She did it for Celia’s sake more than she did her husband’s. But, at the same time, she felt bitter. She felt angry at all the gods that he little boy was lying in his bed, his fate unknown, and this boy, nearly a man, stood next to him to say goodbye. 

Jon Snow looked so much like his father that it was almost frightening. None of Catelyn’s sons had taken after their father, only Arya had any of the Stark coloring out of all her children.

Catelyn was angry. She had been angry for so long and now she was exhausted. Now, Jon Snow was leaving too and she still felt angry. He was leaving as Ned was leaving. He could stay, even for a week longer to be there when Bran would awaken… Surely Bran would awaken. But now, he was to leave now too, for the Wall with Benjen and Harlon. Leaving as Ned was leaving… She did not know when she would see either again. 

“I wish I could be here when you wake up,” Jon said, his voice rough with emotion. 

Then stay, Catelyn thought. 

“I’m going north with Uncle Benjen and Harlon. I’m taking the black. I know we always talked about seeing the Wall together, but you’ll be able to visit me at Castle Black when you’re better. I’ll know my way around by then. I’ll be a sworn brother of the NIght Watch. We can go out walking beyond the Wall, if you aren’t afraid.” 

The boy bent down and kissed Bran at the top of his head and bowed his head respectfully to Catelyn before leaving. The door remained open and footsteps drew near. Catelyn looked and saw Ned drawing close to her and she felt sick. She turned away from him, refusing to look at him. 

“Seventeen years ago,” she began. “You rode off with Robert Baratheon. You came back a year later with another woman’s children, claiming you could not leave them. And now you are leaving again, with Bran sleeping. Leaving me when you should be here, with your family. You are taking my daughters away from me.”

“I have no choice,” Ned tried to reason. 

Catelyn scoffed bitterly, tears beginning to catch upon her lashes and slide down her cheek. “That’s what men always say when honor calls. That’s what you tell your families, tell yourself.” She looked at him in all her anger. “You do have a choice,” she said. “And you have made it.” She gripped his arm tightly. “But you can still unmake it. Robert Baratheon is not the man you remember. You don’t know what he’s done.” 

“You do not know him either,” Ned said. “I must go south. It is my duty.” 

“Your duty is to your family,” Cat said. “Ned please. I can’t do this. I really can’t.” 

“You can,” her husband said. “You must.” He squeezed her hand, but then he let her go, left her alone with their son as she tried to breath through her tears. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We were robbed from seeing Catelyn’s reaction to Bran’d fall. Robbed I tell you. 
> 
> And Catelyn knows. Gosh it just makes my stomach churn with how close Catelyn’s thoughts are to the truth of Celia and Jon’s parentage and then there’s the foreshadow! 😭
> 
> And I always really liked this scene between Catelyn and Cersei. I just do, especially because it was acted so well!
> 
> And I love Ned, I truly do, but he was always a bit of one track minded. He’s also still firmly under the idea that Robert is still as he was when they were younger. But that will change once the Lady incident happens.


	10. Celia IV

“Will Bran wake, Maester Luwin?” Celia asked as she helped treat the bedsheets Bran had been sleeping in. The furs were doused in lavender and the sheets washed in the oil of ment. It would soothe him, at the very least, in his dreams, even if his body might be in great pain. 

“I believe he will, my lady,” the elderly man said. 

The maester had always been very kind to Celia in her youth and, at times, the man had taken a rather fathering role to her and Jon when their father had been busy with the younger children. As such, she had taken to following him about when she hadn’t been allowed in sewing circles, when other esteemed ladies of the North had come to visit Winterfell for nameday feasts and birth announcements. It was then that the maester had noticed Celia’s skill at herbs and helping with wounds. He had told her lord father that, had she been born a boy, he would have insisted that she be sent to the Citadel to begin forging her chain. But, alas, it wasn’t to be. Instead, he taught her all that he could about the art of healing and medicine, sending her to one of the midwives of Wintertown to learn more as well. 

“When do you suppose he will?” 

“It depends on Lord Bran and the gods, Celia,” the maester admitted. “However, I believe the little lord is asleep so that he need not be awake during the pain of healing. I’m sure that he will awake when he is ready.” 

Celia sighed. “I wish there was more that I could do.”

“You do enough, child,” he said, patting her back. “Lady Stark would run herself into an early grave if not for you. Septa Mordane is well meaning, but she is not aquipt at taking care of a girl like Arya and Sansa both. And you look after her while everything is going to the Seven Hells with Lord Stark leaving with the girls and Jon heading to the Wall.” 

Celia’s lips formed a thin line. She didn’t wish to dwell on her twin leaving for the Wall. They had always been together, always. And now, suddenly, Jon was going to be away from her. She had no memory of ever being far from Jon except for when they were really small and he had the pox. That was the only time that Celia could remember not having her brother close. 

Now, with Sansa, Arya, and their father leaving as well, and Bran still not awake, it felt as though Celia were drowning. It was like she couldn’t breathe. 

Maester Luwin placed a hand on her back and set a cup of tea before her. “Drink this, child,” he said tenderly. “Working yourself up like this will do you absolutely no good at all. Everyone will be leaving soon and you need to be in your best form when you see them off. It won’t be forever. I’m certain you will be allowed South at one point to see your father and sisters again, and I have no doubt that Jon will visit with Benjen soon. All we can do is pray to the gods that our paths will intersect soon.” 

—

Celia could hear Lady Stark crying as her father left Bran’s room. She looked up at him and saw that he had seemed to gain ten years. His hair had turned a little ashen and the deep lines of his face did not help to hide the underlying concern in his eyes. 

“So you are still going to leave, Father?” she asked quietly. 

Lord Stark pressed his hand to his face and let it fall until he was grasping his chin. “It is what I need to do, Celia,” he said gently. “It’s my duty.” 

“Can’t you tell the king to wait?” Celia asked. The title felt like a lime upon her tongue, bitter and acidic. “Surely he must understand that you should stay until Bran is better.” 

“The king needs a Hand, Celia.” 

“Someone else can do it until you get to King’s Landing,” Celia reached out and touched her father’s sleeve. “Please, Father, can’t you stay.”

“One day,” her father said. “You will understand that we must not always do as we wish to.” 

“The king is your friend and a father, surely he would allow you to stay until Bran has awoken at the very least.” 

“We leave tomorrow, Celia.” 

She looked down at her feet. “We can’t do this without you. Winterfell is not right without you and the Starks don’t belong in the south. We belong in the North. We are stronger within the walls of Winterfell, yet half of everyone is leaving.” 

Lord Stark sighed and put his hand on Celia’s shoulder. “There will still be five Starks at Winterfell,” he told her. “Everything will be fine.” 

“Four,” she said softly, looking away. “There will only be four.” 

“Celia, you are a Stark,” he touched his hand to her cheek. “You might not have my name, but you have my blood.” 

“Is my mother alive?” the words tumbled from her lips. She and Jon had talked and dreamed of their mother often, even when Lady Stark had begun to treat Celia with some care. They had dreamed and spoke of her so often that they could almost see her face. In her dreams, she was beautiful, and highborn, and her eyes were kind. “Does she know about me and Jon? Does she know where she’s going? Does she care? Can I write to her? Perhaps I have a brother and sister by another father that I might write to?” 

Her father’s face turned ashen then and his eyes grew sad and, once more, Celia knew that he would not speak her name. He never spoke of her. Lady Stark had once asked if Lady Ashara Dayne were Celia and Jon’s mother, but he had grown angry at any question of it and Celia did not know if it meant that she was their mother or not. 

“The next time we see each other,” her father said gently. “We’ll talk about your mother. I promise.” He pressed a kiss to her brow and Celia hoped that the next time would be soon.

—

Celia had already wished Arya farewell and left Jon to give his goodbyes as well. He and Arya had always been a little closer, their relationship different, but Arya had been the one to prefer prancing about with the boys. Celia, however, had preferred the sewing circle. It was time to say goodbye to Sansa then. 

Lady was laying on the floor of Sansa’s room, perfectly ladylike, her paws even crossed as her yellow eyes watched Sansa flit about the room like a dragonfly. Shadow stalked towards her sister and laid down next to her. The black wolf was a mix of Lady and Ghost when it came to temperament, but she was distinctly Celia’s, moving about with little care or notice, easily missed if one wasn’t looking for them. 

Sansa rushed to Celia when she saw her. “You must help me, Celia,” she said. “I don’t know what dresses to pack and I don’t know how to get Arya to interact with the queen. What if Joffrey does not like me because Arya is rude? What if the queen thinks I am wild because she is and I am only pretending? I will have to be perfect, but what if I mess up?” 

“Slow down,” Celia said, hugging her younger sister tightly. “You need to breathe. Everything will be fine.” She brushed Sansa’s hair with her fingers. “You are thinking too much and you can tell the queen that your mother had always planned for you to marry a Southron boy and had focused more on the south’s graces with you than with Arya, who shall probably marry a man from Bear Island.” 

Sansa sighed. “I suppose.” She paused for a moment. “I asked Father if you could come with us, but he said that he couldn’t bring you. I’m sorry.” 

Celia pulled away and wiped one of the tears from Sansa’s cheek. “There’s no need to apologize.” Besides, Celia would rather die than be anywhere near the king. “Now, I didn’t come here just to look over dresses. I have come to give you a gift.” 

Sansa perked up. “A gift?” 

Celia nodded and pulled out the handkerchief from her pocket. “It won’t be anything like the grand ones you will make or receive in King’s Landing, but this one is for you and only you.” The cloth was a simple grey with silver thread embroidered into the sigil of House Stark. “This is to remind you that you will always be a Stark.” She then pulled out a necklace. “This is from Jon. He wanted to give it to you himself, but he feared that Arya would keep him.” It was a silver chain with a dragonfly pendant.

“I love them,” Sansa said, holding them to her chest. She then threw her arms around Celia’s neck. “I’m going to miss you.”

“I’m going to miss you too.” 

—

“I can’t watch you leave,” Celia admitted quietly as she sat down in Jon’s old room. It had always been bare, but now it felt empty. “I’m sorry.” 

“I don’t blame you,” her twin replied. “I think I would be the same if you were heading south and I was staying here.”

“Then stay, just for a little while longer, until Bran wakes up. The Wall will still be there when he does.” 

“I can’t, Celia,” he said, sitting down next to her. “I… Winterfell can never be my home, not like it can be for you.” 

“Jon…” Celia began. 

“No.” He shook his head and then took her hand in his own. “Lady Stark genuinely cares for you and Robb will look after you, I know he will. You aren’t a threat like I am.”

“You aren’t a threat, Jon.” 

“Many would say otherwise.” 

Celia’s lips formed a thin line before she leaned against Jon’s side and wrapped her arms around him.”Promise you’ll write to me.”

“I promise.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sweet babes. They won’t be allowed to stay innocent for long.
> 
> At first I had thoughts of putting Robb’s goodbye to Jon alongside Celia’s with them both seeing him off, but I felt that Robb and Jon saying goodbye would hit better. 
> 
> And I do, truly, like Ned. I just felt like he was making a lot of foolish decisions and I feel like Robert MIGHT have seen reason for Ned staying until the Bran stuff was settled as he wouldn’t be focused on the crown and land if he was worried about his son.


	11. Robb IV

Winterfell was busy with people readying for the journey south to King’s Landing and the other’s heading to the Wall. It felt strange to see the courtyard so busy. The last time he remembered it being so was when his father went to fight the Greyjoys in their failed rebellion. It didn’t sit right with him. People he didn’t know were roaming his home’s halls and doing as they wished, with little care for the place that Robb knew by heart. It was disconcerting. 

But even so, he had come on a mission, to say goodbye to Jon and his sisters. 

He could see Jon by the stables, holding the saddle for his horse. Robb went to him and patted his brother on the back. “You’ve said goodbye to Bran?”

“Aye,” Jon said softly. “I have. And to the girls and Rickon.” 

Robb nodded. “You could stay, you know,” he reasoned. “Stay until Bran wakes. He’s not going to die. I know it.” 

“I can’t,” he said, however the corner of Jon’s lips curled into a slight smile. “You Starks are hard to kill.”

Robb bowed his head and chuckled. “My mother?”

He knew that his mother and Jon had a strained relationship, more so than the one between her and Celia. It was only when he had just reached the end of his boyhood that he could fully comprehend the tumultuous feelings his mother had. Robb’s parents were the marriage that he wanted one day, they were in love and it felt as though there would be no other. Yet, the contradiction of Jon and Celia remained and things became unclear. He did not begrudge Jon or Celia for their birth, but Robb knew that his mother did to some degree, more towards Jon than Celia. 

“She was very kind,” Jon said. 

Robb nodded. “Good.” Kind could mean many things, but at least it wasn’t cruel. “Next time I see you, you’ll be all in black.” 

“It was always my color,” Jon reasoned, his smile lopsided. He then became serious, looking so much like their father it would be frightening if it weren’t for the fact that Robb could guess what his brother was about to say. “Look after Celia for me.”

“She's a woman grown now,” Robb said. “Well, almost.” 

“Aye, she is,” Jon agreed. “I know she can take after herself just fine.” Robb frowned, thinking of her in his arms after the king’s advances. “But she takes care of others at the expense of herself. You know this as well as I.” 

Robb nodded. “I’ll look after her as much as she will let me.” 

“Good,” Jon said. “I promised to write to her once I’ve settled. “Would you like me to write to you as well?”

“I’m sure she’ll let me read over your letters to her,” Robb replied. 

“True.” 

The two stood there in silence for just a moment. 

“Farewell, Snow,” Robb said.

Jon grinned at him. “And you, Stark.”

—

Once the royal party and everyone was gone, Robb and Theon went hunting. 

They just needed a moment alone and out of Winterfell, away from the way that things were changing. 

The keep felt empty. Even though some things should be getting back to normal, nothing would ever be the same and Robb and Theon both knew it. 

Father, Jon, and the girls were gone and Robb didn’t know when he would ever get the chance to see them all again. He didn’t know when he would ever have the chance to see them in the places his family would soon call home. 

Then there was his mother and Bran. It made his chest ache at the thought. And then poor Rickon, who didn’t understand why Robb, Celia, and Theon were the only ones who could play with him. He didn’t understand why their mother wasn’t paying attention to him. He didn’t understand why Bran wasn’t playing with him. 

It broke Robb’s heart.

“We came here to hunt,” Theon said, stopping his horse next to Robb’s. “Not to brood. Gods, are you going to replace Jon in brooding now?”

Robb chuckled, rolling his shoulders to try and shake the shadows of his thoughts. “Sorry, got lost in thought.” 

“I noticed.” 

Robb sighed. “Why haven’t you gone to the brothel recently?” 

It was a change of subject, but it was a change nonetheless that distracted him from the turbulent emotions running through him. 

“It doesn’t feel right,” he admitted. “It doesn’t feel right going there with Bran as he is. It just… You all need me here, not distracted.” 

Robb nodded. “Aye. I understand that.” 

“There’s… something else,” Theon said, his cheeks turning a little red. 

“And what’s that?” 

“Your parents were discussing a marriage between Celia and myself,” Theon said sheepishly. 

Robb stared at his friend, his mouth agape. He was like he had been hit over the head. Theon and Celia. Celia and Theon. He could… see it, but at the same time… It felt wrong. He couldn’t imagine it, more he didn’t want to. 

“That’s not possible,” Robb said, his voice flat. 

Theon frowned. “What do you mean?” A flicker of hurt flashed across his eyes, which hardened quickly. “Do you think I am not good enough?” 

Robb felt like a horrible friend, but at the time Celia was his… sister. 

—

Robb awoke to Grey Wind pressing his wet nose against his hand. He groaned and rolled onto his stomach and opened one eye to glare at the direwolf. Grey Wind was sitting on the floor panting, unaware of Robb’s annoyance. 

“Do you need to go out, boy?” he asked, sighing. Gods, how did the direwolf even get out of his pen. 

Robb pulled himself out of bed, groaning as he did so. He followed Grey Wind out of the keep and eventually realized that he was following the beast into the godswood. Shadow came out to greet them, the black wolf going to Grey Wind and licking his ear, to which he reciprocated. 

Robb looked up and saw Celia sitting at the roots of the weirwood tree, her eyes closed and her head tilted back, as she would when she was bathing in the sunlight, but now it was only the moon and stars that gave her a gentle glow about her figure. She opened her eyes at his approach. 

“You should be in bed,” he said gently, sitting next to her.

“As should you.” 

Robb hummed and pulled Celia to his side, wrapping his arm around her protectively against the cold. If he had thought about it, or had known that she would be here, he would have brought his grey cloak to wrap her in to keep her warm. 

“What were you doing?” Robb asked.    
“Praying.” 

Robb nodded. “Shall I join you?” 

“Please.” 

He wanted to talk to her about the possible betrothal to Theon.

He wanted to beg for her to stay with him, to not leave him too. 

Robb closed his eyes and rested his head against hers and began to pray. 

—

“My son lies here broken and dying, Maester Luwin,” his mother’s broken voice came. “Yet you wish to discuss a new master of horses?” 

“Lady Catelyn,” Celia’s voice came. “I’m sure he didn’t mean—”

“Do you think I care about what happens in the stables? Do you think it matters at all? I would gladly let all the horses free with my own hands if it meant Bran would open his eyes. Do you understand that? Do you?”

“Yes, my lady,” came Maester Luwin’s voice. “But the appointments—”

“I’ll make the appointments,” Robb said, stepping forward, entering Bran’s room. Celia looked at him in worry as she was kneeling before his mother, obviously begging for the Stark matriarch to see reason. 

Maester Luwin bowed his head to Robb. “I have prepared a list of those we might wish to consider for the vacant posts,” he said. He handed Robb a scroll of paper. 

Ron took a steadying breath, having come from outside. “Good men,” he said before handing the scroll back. “We’ll talk about them tomorrow.” 

“Of course, my lord,” the maester said, putting the scroll in his sleeve. 

“Leave us,” Robb said and the maester bowed his head and began to depart. Celia stood to follow the old man, but Robb took a gentle hold of her arm. “Stay.” She blinked at him for a moment before nodding, stepping away, but waiting for whatever it was he had to say. “Mother,” he began. “What are you doing?” 

“What am I doing?” she echoed, her voice strained. “How can you ask that? What do you imagine I’m doing? I’m taking care of your brother, of Bran.” 

“This is not care, Mother,” Robb tried to reason. It was like she was withering away before him. “You have barely left his room since Bran was hurt. You didn’t even come to the gate when Father and the girls went south.”

“I said my farewells,” his mother reasoned. “I watched them ride out from the window.”

“Robb, leave it,” Celia said softly. 

“I won’t,” he said, focusing intently on his mother. 

“I can’t leave him,” his mother whispered. “Even for a moment, not when any moment could be his last. I have to be with him, if… if…” She broke into tears, taking Bran’s hand and kissing it tenderly. 

Robb softened and knelt before his mother and took her other hand. “He’s not going to die, Mother,” he said gently. “Maester Luwin says the time of greatest danger has passed.” 

“And what if he is wrong?” she said, her voice straining. “What if Bran needs me and I’m not here?” 

“Rickon needs you,” Robb reasoned. “He’s a child and he doesn’t understand what’s going on. Everyone has left and he needs his mother.” He pressed his brow against her hand. “I need you too. I’m trying to fill Father’s place… But I can’t do it all by myself.” 

Before anyone could speak, Summer began to howl. He could feel his mother tremble. 

“Summer,” Robb offered, standing and going to the window to open it and letting the night air fill the room as the howling grew louder. Cold and lonely. 

“Bran needs to stay warm,” Celia said. 

“He needs to hear them sing,” Robb insisted. Then came another wolf, and another, and another. “Shaggydog, Grey Wind, and Shadow.” 

He could tell them apart if he listened hard enough. He looked to Celia and found that she was near tears, refusing to look at him. He could feel it too. Their pack was no longer whole. He looked to the window again. 

“Make it stop,” his mother begged, covering her ears as tears rolled down her cheeks. “I can’t stand it, make them stop. Make them stop!” 

But Robb did not hear her begging, his breath knotting in his throat. “Fire,” he whispered. 

“Stay here,” he ordered. “I’ll come back. Celia, go get Rickon so he isn’t frightened.”

Robb rushed out, heading towards the library tower. He would not let Winterfell burn. 

He would not let Winterfell burn. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh Robb. What is your heart telling you with all these distinctions about sisters and who you’re referring to when you naturally think sisters?
> 
> It honestly makes me think of that slight slip Kit had in an interview over what Jon’s happy ending would be “sister....s”


	12. Catelyn IV

Men continued to shout  _ fire _ outside. Screams, quickened footsteps, the castle dogs barking frantically, and the whinny of frightened horses echoed across winterfell. But not the wolves, the direwolves had gone silent. 

Catelyn stood and said a silent prayer, thanking the gods that the fire was on the other side of the keep. She made her way to the window and looked out as the long tongues of flames shot from the window of the library. She watched the smoke rise and she recalled the way the Trident had appeared to burn after the battle that had been the final nail in the coffin of the Targaryen rule. She felt more in this moment than she had when word had come that the battle was won and her new husband still breathed. Now, she watched a library, which had stood for centuries, crumble under the weight of fire and ash. The Starks had gathered so many books in that library, so many Starks and Snows had been taught there, and now it was being reduced to rubble. 

Catelyn could watch no longer and closed the shutters. She turned away and froze at the sight of a man she did not recognize in the room. She knew all who claimed Winterfell, and even Wintertown, home. She did not know this man. 

“You weren’t supposed to be here,” the man muttered, his voice bitter. “No one was supposed to be here.” 

Catelyn’s eye was drawn to the knife in the man’s hand and then to her son. “No,” the word was tearing at her throat and she felt herself tensing, as though she were a cat ready to pounce.

“It’s a mercy,” the man said, his lips curled cruelly. “He’s dead already.” 

“No,” Catelyn said, the sound deep and guttural, ripped from her lips. “No, you can’t!” She turned to the opened door to scream for help, but the man grabbed her and clamped a hand over her mouth and yanked her head back, bringing the dagger to her neck. 

She grabbed at the blade with both her hands and pulled on it as much as she was able to from her throat. The man was swearing against her ear as her fingers grew slippery with her own blood, but she would not let go. No, her son would live. She would not let a single child of House Stark die, she would defy all the gods she would turn her back against the Seven who had been silent this entire time. No child of House Stark would die, not while she drew breath. 

Catelyn managed to turn her head slightly and got a bit of his hand near her mouth. She opened it and clamped her teeth down hard upon his flesh. She could taste the blood like copper on her tongue as the man cried out in pain. He let her go and she stumbled away from him, losing her footing and screaming, praying that someone would hear her, that someone would come and rescue her son. 

_ Ned _ , she thought.  _ Why are you not here? _

“You weren’t supposed to be here,” the man repeated with a sneer. 

Catelyn looked up and found Celia standing before the man, her arms lifted, holding Sansa’s lyre, Rickon must have been in the music room. The girl brought the instrument down upon the man’s shoulder and he cried out in pain. The intruder was like a wild animal, lashing out at the attack, the dagger slashing close to Celia’s face as she cried out in pain. She fell to the ground and Catelyn was about to call to her when a shadow slipped into the door, unnoticed. 

Two shadows, in truth. 

One howled loudly, throwing its black head back as the grey one leapt into the air at the assailant. The two went down together, sprawled next to Bran’s bed as the man screamed in terror, only silenced when the wolf sank its fangs into the man’s neck, the bone cracking. The blood sprayed across her face at the force of it. 

Summer, she recognized which one it was now, let go, his maw soaked in blood. The wolf looked at Catelyn for a moment before jumping onto Bran’s bed and laid down beside the quiet boy. Shadow, Celia’s wolf, went over to the girl and began to lick the blood on her hand and cheek.

Catelyn, herself, was lost for a moment, before she moved, going to her husband’s daughter, thanking her quietly for coming when it would have been safer to be wherever she had gone. 

That was where Robb and Maester Luwin found them. 

—

The cut on Celia’s cheek was, luckily, superficial, and only bled so much due to its position on her face. It would heal within the week. Catelyn’s hands, however, would have scarring on them for the rest of her life. Maester Luwin treated them and, soon after, Catelyn’s vision grew blurry and she was dead to the world. 

When she awoke, she was still in Bran’s room, a small cot having been brought to house her sleeping body. 

Celia was in the chair Catelyn had once occupied, sewing a shirt that Catelyn believed was Rickon’s.

“How long have I been asleep?” Catelyn asked, her voice rough from it. 

Celia turned to her, her eyes wide, and stood, setting aside her sewing. “You have been asleep for three days, my lady,” she said, kneeling beside Catelyn’s bed. “Shall I call for Lady Jeyne or another servant to dress you and send someone to the kitchens?” 

Catelyn shook her head. “I’m fine,” she replied. “There is no need to worry for me.” 

“You fainted, Lady Catelyn,” Celia reasoned. “I am only glad that Robb was there to catch you when you began to sway.” 

Catelyn nodded. “And Bran?”

Celia looked down, crestfallen. “He has not woken yet, my lady.” 

Catelyn looked at her son and sighed, forcing the air from her lungs. She had been so neglectful, she could see that. Had she slept, had she been taking better care of herself, she would have been able to better care for her children, able to protect them from those who wished to hurt them. 

“Thank you, Celia,” she said. 

The girl looked up at her in surprise. “I was helping protect my brother, my lady. There is no need for thanks.” 

“Not for that,” Catelyn said, shaking her head. “Although I am grateful. No, I am thanking you for doing as I should have been and taking care of Winterfell and Rickon.” 

Celia blushed, the tips of her ears turning pink. Catelyn smiled sadly, Ned did the same when they were first married and he earned praise for his actions as the Lord of Winterfell. “I was only doing what I could to help, my lady.” 

Catelyn stroked the girl’s dark hair. “Even so,” she said. “Thank you.”

—

Catelyn made her way to the Broken Tower. She had told Ned long ago that the place should either be torn down or taken care of, however, there had never been time, there had always been something else to do. 

She nodded to the servants as she passed, but she knew she looked as though she were walking with a purpose, and no one was stopping her to speak on matters. Part of her wondered if the servants had grown used to speaking with Robb or Celia if they had questions. Catelyn couldn’t be certain. 

She reached the place where Bran had fallen and looked up. Her eyes narrowed as she saw that there was a window. Bran was a good climber, he would have reached that window. There was no reason for him to have fallen. Her son was quick and he could have easily pulled his way through it if he had lost any of his footing. 

She made her way up the tower and reached the room with the window. Bran shouldn’t have fallen and there was no reason for anyone to send an assassin after her son. Bran must have seen something, but what. 

She looked out the window and upon Winterfell. The tower was far enough away that, if some meeting had taken place, none would have heard it, unless Bran had been discovered. Catelyn turned from the view of her home and began to search the dust and the straw, kneeling upon the ground until she found something that should not have been there. A strand of long blonde hair. While hair of that color was sported by a few ladies in the North, it was as rare as Catelyn’s own red hair. There was one person that came to mind, however, who sported such lovely golden hair. 

The letter Lysa had sent came into her mind and Catelyn’s heart stuttered in her chest. 

What den had Ned taken their daughters to?

—

Catelyn met with her son, Celia, Theon Greyjoy, Ser Rodrik Cassell, and Maester Luwin in the godswood. “What I am about to tell you,” she said “Must remain between us. I don’t think Bran fell from that tower. I believe he was thrown.” 

She watched as the others tensed as Maester Luwin nodded. “The boy was always sure-footed before,” the elderly man said. “Even in snow he never fell.” 

“Someone tried to kill him twice,” Catelyn continued. “ _ Why _ ? Why murder an nnocent child? Unless he saw something he wasn’t meant to see.”

“See what, my lady?” Theon Greyjoy asked. 

“I don’t know,” she admitted. “But I would stake my life that the Lannisters are involved. We already have reason to suspect their loyalty to the crown. 

“Did you notice the dagger the killer used?” Ser Rodrik asked. “It’s too fine a weapon for such a man as him. The blade is Valyrian steel, the handle dragonbone. Someone gave it to him.” 

“Give that to me,” Celia said, her voice wary, the knight handing it to her carefully. “I’ve read about this blade,” she said, looking the dagger over. “There was a description of it in one of the books in the library. It belonged to Visenya Targaryen and was passed down to be carried by the Prince of Dragonstone ever since then. It would have belonged to Rhaegar Targaryen last.” She sheathed the blade, her eyes narrowed before looking up at them all. “By title alone, this should belong to Prince Joffrey, unless such a dagger had been kept from him.” 

“Whoever it was,” Robb said. “Lannister or not, came into our home and tried to murder our brother.” He looked to Catelyn. “If it’s war they want…” 

“If it comes to that,” Theon Greyjoy said, glancing at Celia before focusing on Robb. “You know I’ll stand behind you.” 

Maester Luwin sighed. “What,” he asked, glancing at the boys with their hands on the hilt of their swords. “Is there going to be a battle in the Godswood? Too easily words of war become acts of war. We don’t know the truth yet. Even so,” he said, turning to Catelyn. “Lord Stark must be told.” 

“I don’t trust a raven to carry these words,” Catelyn said, mulling over the possibilities. 

“I’ll ride to King’s Landing,” Robb volunteered. 

“You are needed as Lord of Winterfell,” Celia said. “Bran is unable to do it and Rickon is too young.” She looked to Catelyn. “I am only a bastard,” she said. “Surely I will be less noticed.” 

Catelyn shook her head. “No.” For some reason, the thought of the girl going south did not sit right with her. “I will go myself.” 

“Mother, you can’t,” Robb tried to reason. 

“I must,” Catelyn said plainly. 

“I’ll send Hal with a squad of guardsmen to escort you, my lady,” Ser Rodrik offered. 

“Too large a party attracts unwanted attention,” she told the knight. “I don’t want the Lannisters to know I’m coming.”

“Let me accompany you at least,” he said. “The Kingsroad can be a dangerous place for a woman alone?” 

“What about Bran?” Celia asked. 

“He will wake up soon,” Catleyn said. “And, the gods willing, those who have tried to hurt him will be brought to justice by the time he does.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lots of illusions to Celia’s sperm donor this chapter 😒  
> But still! A lot has happened as we move our way through the plot and the consequences soon to come. 😱


	13. Celia V

“What worries you, Celia?” Robb asked, coming up behind her. 

She had been staring out of the window of Bran’s room, having taken the habit of staying with him during parts of her day to sing to him. The window looked out to the courtyard and she would watch, occasionally, life going forward as usual without much care that half of the Starks were gone. 

“I’m frightened,” she admitted. 

“Frightened?” Robb repeated. “Of what?”

“Of everything, I suppose.”

“That does not sound like the Celia I know.” He put his arm around her and Celia rested her head against his collarbone. “The Celia I know would laugh in the face of fear.”

She smiled and turned to wrap her arms around his waist and pressed her face into his chest. He was not that much taller than her, just a few inches. But even so, the difference was comforting. 

“I suppose I am frightened by how much has changed,” she said quietly as she felt Robb’s lips brush against the top of her head in the sweetest of kisses. “Everyone has left so suddenly. I feel like Jenny of Oldstones.”

Robb cupped her face in his hands and pressed his lips more firmly against her brow. “Everyone is safe,” he assured her. “Mother has gone to tell our father her suspicions and Father will take care of the girls. Jon is no doubt climbing the ranks of the Night Watch as we speak. We are here to protect Bran and Rickon. Everyone will return to us soon.”

“I know,” she said quietly. “I just worry. I don’t trust the Lannisters. Everyone knows the unspoken rumor of what Lord Tywin Lannister has done to Princess Elia and her children.”

“No one will hurt our family, Celia. We are Starks, and as Jon would say, we are hard to kill.” 

Celia smiled and closed her eyes as Robb pressed another kiss to her brow. “Do not worry so much,” he whispered softly, his voice tickling against her skin as a slight thrill ran up her spine. “Everything will be fine. I swear it.” He wrapped his arms around her once more and Celia relaxed within them, feeling a sweet heat against her body as an unwanted blush graced her cheeks. 

—

She did not know how long she had been falling. _Flying_ , a voice inside her head whispered. _You were meant to fly. A dragon is always meant to fly._

Celia struggles against the wait of whatever it was that was dragging her downs even though part of her knew that she would die should she let go of whatever it was. 

_Don’t wake the dragon_. 

_Fire cannot kill a dragon._

_Don’t wake the dragon._

_A Targaryen alone in the world is a terrible thing._

_Don’t wake the dragon._

_I swear that those who harm you_ — _me_ a voice whispered— _will die screaming!_

_Don’t wake the dragon._

_What great thing has ever been accomplished without killing or cruelty?_

_Don’t wake the dragon._

_We will lay waste to their armies and burn their cities to the ground!_

_Don’t wake the dragon._

_One day, your great city will return to the dirt._

_Don’t wake the dragon._

_I will take back what is mine. With_ fire _and_ blood _I will take it!_

_Don’t wake the dragon._

_All rulers are either butchers or meat._

_Don’t wake the dragon._

_Reject this gift and I shall show you no mercy._

_Don’t wake the dragon._

_I will answer injustice with justice._

_Don’t wake the dragon._

_The Mad King gave his enemies the justice he thought they deserved._

_Don’t wake the dragon._

_They can live in my new world, or they can die in their old one._

_Don’t wake the dragon._

_You’re not going to serve, you’re going to die._

_Don’t wake the dragon._

Suddenly, Celia was upon the ground, ice clawing at her veins and it was as though she were in the stone crypts below Winterfell. But this was different. It was colder and she felt that she knew that no Starks were laid to rest there. 

“There have always been Targaryens who dreamed of things to come, long before the Conquest.”

Celia turned and saw a skeleton of a man leaning amongst tree roots, as though he himself were made of the tree. He was frightening, but Celia could sense that he was once beautiful, but that beauty had left him long ago. 

“But you are not Targaryen,” he said. “A wolf, it seems. In all but name.”

Celia scrambled up from her place upon the floor and backed away from the strange man. “Who are you?”

The man’s lips cracked into a hollow smile. “You are not welcome to learn it yet. For I have not decided who to bless yet.”

Celia narrowed her eyes and continued to back away. “What are you?”

“You could call me a cousin of sorts, sweet girl.”

The endearment was like the ice in her veins. “And what do you want?”

“To know if you will become a dragon.”

“I am a Stark,” she said. “Even if I am only a Snow.”

The man laughed like breaking ice. “I see, so that is the path Eddard Stark has taken, the room.”

“My father is not a fool!”

“He could have been a kingmaker. Instead he hid away his only protection and let you both crumple under the weight of bastardry. I know of that weight well.”

“What do you want?” Celia demanded. 

“Tell me girl, if I told you that great tragedy would fall upon you and your body, would you wish for me to save you?” 

Celia narrowed her eyes. “I feel as though there would be consequences.”

“You must come to me, sweet girl and learn from me. But you shall never see the boy kissed by fire again, nor the boy kissed by a drowning god. Abandon them as they will one day abandon you and leave them to the death they deserve. Abandon Winterfell as it would have abandoned you. Become what you were born to be. Become the savior of the realm. Become like me.”

Celia’s hands curled into fists. “No.”

“No?”

“I will never turn my back on people that need me. My family needs me, I won’t abandon them. I am a Stark of Winterfell and I will not abandon my pack to be anymore broken than it already is.”

“Hm…” the man thought. “It appears you are stronger than your father in that respect. How quickly he had chosen to abandon all things so that he might be special.” The man’s hand cracked as he lifted it, the ropes of tree roots hanging from his limb as he touched a finger to her brow. “You shall forget this, Visenya. For what would be the fun of letting you know the dangers growing in Essos. I am not to interfere with the present anymore and you are not to be my student. Wake up, sweet girl, and do not blame me for the torment ahead of you.”

Celia awoke one a cold sweat, unsure of what it was in her shadowed dream that had awoken her. 

—

When Bran awoke, there was no gasp of suddenly coming into awareness. There was no great blast of bells or a call about the yard to celebrate the young boy awakening. 

Bran awoke to the mournful howl of wolves and to the sudden worry for Sansa.

Sansa…

But she pushed those thoughts away as she got onto Bran’s bed and calmed the boy from his worry. He was crying, crying for a strange raven and of flying. He cried and cried as Robb and Theon barreled into the room in concern and Maester Luwin began to care for the precious boy’s health. 

Celia stroked his hair and pressed kisses to his cheek to soothe him. 

“I can’t feel my legs,” Bran said through his tears. “I can’t feel my legs.”

—

“It was a lie,” Bran said bitterly as Celia sat by his bed, sewing. Old Nan was there as well, keeping him company when Celia was off doing her duties as the acting lady of Winterfell. “I can’t fly. I can’t even run.”

“Crows are all liars,” Old NaN agreed. “Except for sweet Benjen. He tried. He tried and he has become a crow for such things.”

Celia looked at the older woman in confusion, wondering what lie her uncle could have possibly told. Her uncle was like her father in that lying was something Celia couldn’t imagine them doing. 

Old Nan was possibly the oldest person in all of the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros. She had been called to be the nursemaid long ago and she had lived through many ears and losses. Celia was half convinced that the old woman would outlive them all and that there was magic in her old bones, woven through the stories she told them. 

“How about Old Nan tells us a story,” Celia tried. 

“I don’t want to hear a story,” Bean said, crossing his arms in annoyance. “I hate them.”

“I know a story about a boy who hated stories,” Old Nan replied and Celia bit her lip to keep from laughing at the adorable expression of rage upon Bran’s face. 

Bran had been disappointed that only she, Robb, Rickon, and Theon were left in Winterfell. Disappointed that their father had not waited for them. Disappointed that his mother was not the one at his side. Disappointed that Robb could no longer act as the brother, but rather the young lord of Winterfell. 

“I could tell you the story of Bran the Builder,” Old Nan said. “That one has always been your favorite.”

“It’s not,” Bran replied. “My favorites are the scary ones.”

Celia smiled sadly as they heard the wolves howling happily. Bran hit his fist against his leg but Celia knew he felt nothing. 

"Oh, my sweet summer child," Old Nan said quietly, "what do you know of fear? Fear is for the winter, my little lord, when the snows fall a hundred feet deep and the ice wind comes howling out of the north. Fear is for the long night, when the sun hides its face for years at a time, and little children are born and live and die all in darkness while the direwolves grow gaunt and hungry, and the white walkers move through the woods." 

“You mean the Others,” Bran asked. 

“The Others,” Old Nan nodded in agreement. “They were like the dragons in a way, like a shadow cast upon the land, stifling the sun and summer. With the dragons came fire, but with the Others came ice. Such beautiful things that can destroy anything it touches should it wish to.” The old woman paused. “I warned her, that sweet wolf girl. I warned her but she did not listen. I warned Brandon too. I warned and warned but no one ever listens.”

“Old Nan,” Celia asked. “What do you mean you _warned_ them? Warned wh—”

The door opened with a bang and Celia was surprised to see that it was only Maester Luwin and Hodor. 

“Hodor!” The stablehand announced, smiling happily at them all. 

Celia smiled. “Hello, Hodor,” she said. She always tried to be kind to the gentle giant. Always tried to make him the first one she acknowledged. 

The man was always kind and gentle and even though his mind was slow, his heart was perhaps the largest in all the Seven Kingdoms. 

“We have visitors,” Maester Luwin said, no smile traced upon his lips. “And your presence is requested, Bran. And you as well Celia.”

“Who is it?” she asked, confused on why the maester did not seem pleased. 

“Tyrion Lannister,” the elderly man said and Celia frowned. “And some men of the Night Watch. They have word of Jon.” Celia’s heart fluttered in her chest.robb is meeting them now. Hodor,” he addressed the other man. “Will you help Bran down the hall?”

“Hodor,” was the reply and he went to pick Bran up in his arms as Sansa would have her doll when she they were girls.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some sweet moments between our main couple before everything starts going to heck with their feelings and the war and everything.
> 
> Bloodraven doing as he does, playing both sides. However, we do hear more about Rhaegar to a degree. Did you guys like it or was it too much?
> 
> Bran’s awake!
> 
> And Old Nan knows some things! Did you like the word play with Celia’s thoughts on her uncle and “father”?


	14. Robb V

Lord Tyrion Lannister stood before Robb and Maester Luwin, who were seated and standing, respectively, before him. Grey Wind was lying on the slight rise that held the table, and Robb could sense the man’s unease as the wild stared at him. He had not been asked to sit and the guest rights had yet to be properly performed and only called for. Robb was wary of the Lannister. For all he knew, the man had some hand in Bran’s fall. 

“I must say,” the Southron lord said. “I received a slightly warmer welcome on my last visit.”

Any man of the Night Watch is welcome at Winterfell,” Robb said carefully. He thought of Sansa and her constant reminder to keep to his courtesies. 

Tyrion Lannister smirked. “Any man of the Night Watch, but not I, eh, boy?”

Robb frowned and wished to forget his courtesies, but he could see Celia entering and did not wish to let her hear him speaking foully. Shadow moved towards Grey Wind and settled beside the wolf. “I’m not your boy, Lannister,” Robb said, turning his attention to the man before him as Celia took her seat next to his own. It would normally be where his mother would sit next to his father, however, Celia had been the acting Lady of Winterfell since she had left. Her place was by his side. “I am Lord of Winterfell whole my father is away.”

“Then you might learn a lord’s courtesy,” the man said with a wink to Celia. 

Robb tightened his hand into a fist, but he felt Celia’s hand, the very tips of her fingers, upon his thigh. He glanced at her briefly and saw that she was looking forward, ignoring the man’s rudeness. Telling him to ignore it too. 

Hodor then came in, carrying Bran, with Theon close behind. Tyrion Lannister turned to look at those entering. 

“So it’s true,” the Imp said. “Hello, Bran. Do you remember anything about what happened.”

Beside him, Robb could hear Celia stop breathing for a moment. Robb dropped his hand under the table and squeezed her hand gently. He wouldn’t let anything happen to their family. 

“He has no memory of that day,” Maester Luwin answered sagely, as though he had been the one asked. 

“Curious,” Tyrion Lannister said. 

“Why are you here?” Robb asked through gritted teeth. 

“Would your charming companion be so kind as to kneel?” the Lannister lord asked, ignoring Robb’s question. “My neck is beginning to hurt.”

“Kneel, Hodor,” Bran ordered. 

“Do you like to ride, Bran?” the man asked. 

“Yes,” their brother answered, but Robb could see the broken way his expression changed. “Well, I mean I did like to.”

“The boy has lost the use of his legs,”’Maester Luwin said. 

“What if it?” Lord Tyrion said, turning to the high table. “With the right horse and saddle, even a cripple can ride.”

“I’m not a cripple,” Bran said quickly. 

“Then I am not a dwarf,” the Imp said, as though to humor Bran. “My father will rejoice to hear it.” He pulled out a scroll and Theon took it. “Give this to your saddler. He’ll provide the rest. You must shape the horse to the rider. Start with a yearling and teach it to respond to reins and the boy’s voice.”

“Will I really be able to ride?” Bean asked quietly and Robb’s heart broke for the hope coming out of the blue. 

“You will,” Lord Tyrion assures him. “On horseback you will be as tall as any of them.”

“Is this some kind of trick?” Robb asked. “Why do you want to help him?”

“I have a tender spot in my heart for cripples, bastards, and broken things.”

“You have done my brother a kindness,” Robb said carefully. “The hospitality of Winterfell is yours. However, I warn you that your tenderness towards bastards shall remain in public.” He squeezed Celia’s hand. All know of the Imp’s love of sex and drink. 

Lord Tyrion snorted. “Spare me your false courtesies, Lord Stark. There's a brothel outside your walls. There I'll find a bed and both of us can sleep easier.”

—

It was late in the evening and Robb was only just heading to bed, almost passing the sept. There had been so much work to be done and he had so very little help in all of it. He was not ready to be the true Lord of Winterfell and he could not imagine what it must have been like for his father, who had not even been trained as the heir, to fill his duties after King Robert’s rebellion. 

He came across Celia as she too was wandering the halls, only she was in her night shift, Shadow following her. Grey Wind, who was next to Robb made his way towards his pack mate to kick at the she-wolf’s ears. 

“Why are you still awake?” Robb asked gently, approaching her. It had become a habit, almost, to see each other so late in the evening. “Are you alright?”

Celia nodded. “Just troubling dreams.”

“Of?”

“My mother, I think.”

Robb frowned and drew closer to her. She shivered slightly and Robb took his Stark cloak from his shoulders and wrapped it around her own. “Do you dream of her often?”

She shook her head. “I don’t think so,” she replied. “I don’t even know what she looks like or who she is.” She pulled the cloak further over her shoulders. “Father promised to tell me of her when he returns.”

The thought surprised Robb, as his father never spoke of Jon and Celia’s mother. Not even the servants whispered of it. However, Robb could not think of never knowing his own mother and wished for the same peace to Celia. 

“Do you have any hope of who she is?”

Celia shook her head. “I like to imagine that she’s a lady, and that Father took us here to save her reputation, but… I think the one thing I would like most in the world is if she were alive, no matter how selfish that is.”

“How is that selfish?”

“If she were dead, your mother would have no need of concern.”

Robb cupped Celia’s face in his hands. “Your birth and our father’s choices are not your fault. If your mother is alive, then that is one more part of yourself that you can have.”

She closed her eyes and leaned into his hand. Robb watched her serene expression and leaned forward, pressing a kiss to her cheek, so very close. He then brought his brow to hers and pressed against her, nuzzling her as Grey Wind might Shadow. 

“You are allowed to be selfish, Celia.”

“Am I?” she asked quietly. “Of course.”

Her hands slid across his waist and her arms wrapped around him until she was pressed close to him, seeking the warmth and comfort he was so very willing to provide. 

—

Robb dreamed of the godswood. He dreamed of Shadow running beside him. Summer and Shaggydog, his brothers, not hers, they were still back in the keep with their partners, protecting them. But he was with Shadow, following the she-wolf as her scent sparked something inside him that he couldn’t quite understand. It was as though there was something smothering it so he could snot smell it completely. Perhaps in time he would be able to understand it, but for now it did not matter. 

The two tussled in the wood, their teeth nipping at one another playfully as they explored the wood until they came to the heart tree. 

Shadow then sat before it, looking up into the white branches and the red leaves. Robb sat beside her and nuzzled his face into her shoulder. She returned the gesture, licking at his throat, causing Robb to jerk up in his bed, a slight sweat upon his skin and his cheeks burning in slight embarrassment. For what reason, he was not sure. 

—

Robb was glad that Theon wasn’t visiting the brothels, as he needed the Ironborn to help him with some things, but it did not sit right with him at how often Theon spent some of his time with Celia, almost serving her as a chaperone around the keep, even though she had no need of one. 

It did not sit right with Robb the way Theon looked at Celia, the hunger and retrained want in his gaze. The way his eyes followed her whenever she left the room to attend to Bran or Rickon. The way he felt nonhesitancy in touching her arm or the small of her back, or the way that Celia did nothing to put Theon off from doing so. 

“Do you intend to marry Celia, then?” Robb asked when he was able to drag Theon away to help sort through the library. 

“Why, do you think I’m worthy now?” There was a touch of bitterness in his voice that made Robb look away. 

“I simply want to know your intentions,” he reasoned. “She’s my sister, the only sister that remains in Winterfell and I need to care about her.”

“That does not quite answer my question.”

“You’ve stayed away from the brothels,” Robb commented. 

“Aye, figured I wouldn’t do that anymore. It might make Lord Stark look upon me more favorably.” Theon scratched The back of his head. “I’ve been trying to visit Alannys more as well.”

“Is she well?”

“She’s a sweet girl,” Theon said. “And she adores Celia so…”

“Don’t marry her to mother your child,” Robb said. “Or because she’s some prize to be won.”

“I don’t think that,” Theon said defensively. 

“Whatever you say,” Robb replied. 

“It’s true.”

“Alright then.” Robb turned to leave, but Theon took light hold of his arm. 

“Hey,” he said. “I love your sister. I do.”

 _Sister_ , the word felt strange in his heart. Not in his head, he knew that was what she was. _Half_ , the other part of his mind supplied. 

“I will not force her to marry someone she holds little care for. I will not stand for it. Neither would my father and mother.”

“I am trying to win her, prove myself as worthy.”

Robb nodded. “I’ll enjoy seeing you try.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Robb not trusting Tyrion around Celia is a definite thing, but also him trying to be courteous because he’s thinking of Sansa. Lol
> 
> Got a little hot next to the sept, didn’t it? Just a tiny bit 
> 
> And wolf dreams! 
> 
> And Theon wants to try. But this isn’t his Celiafic
> 
> And man, in Robb’s next chapter, things are going to be a little hotter. But before that we’re going to have Cat’s chapter and then angst from Celia


	15. Catelyn V

Catelyn has always dreamed of begging in King’s Landing. She was almost certain that most girls who dreamed of knights and princes and court life did. She had passed such dreams to Sansa, but now that she had arrived… it all felt sorely lacking. 

This great stinking city full of summer heat and sweat was the great innovation of House Targaryen. This city which smelled of unwashed anything and people so poor that they would never have the opportunity to speak to the men and women who ruled over their city at all. 

It was nothing like Riverrun where her father’s people were content with their life and work. It was not like Winterfell where all could come and speak to Ned about whatever it was they wished and were listened to as seriously as they though they were lords and ladies themselves. 

Catelyn once dreamed of this Southron life, but now she longed for the North, to be with her eldest son and her two youngest. To have her girls back home safe with her and away from the Lannisters. Perhaps Ned could sneak them out and they could all go home together while Ned finishes his business, their business, in the capital. 

Catelyn and Ser Rodrik entered King’s Landing through a back entrance, hoping to not draw too much attention to themselves. 

“Fewer eyes back here, my lady,” Ser Rodrik said. “But still too many.”

“It has been years since I set foot in the capital,” she said. And she had come from the other side of it but seeing the city I’ll prepared for any arrival only showed that the smell that had wafted into the Red Keep upon occasion was the true rot hidden beneath the dressing Robert or King Aerys had presented in court. “No one knew who I was last time I came. No one shall now me know either.”

The knight bowed his head. “My lady.”

Two guards pulled up to her on horseback and handed her a scroll. Catelyn opened it in confusion and even more so when it indicated that she should follow them. 

“Welcome to King’s Landing, Lady Stark,” one of the men said. “Would you mind following us?”

“I would,” Catelyn said, narrowing her eyes at the men. “We’ve done nothing wrong.”

“We’ve been instructed time escort you into the city,” the second man said. 

“Instructed?” Catelyn said slowly. “I don’t know who’s providing your instructions, but—”

“Follow me, Lady Stark.”

—

“You little worm!” Catelyn shouted as Petyr tried to usher her within one of the brothel rooms. “You take me for some back-alley Sally you can drag into—”

“I meant no disrespect to you if all people,” Baelish tried to reason. 

“You dare bring me here!” Catelyn continued, ignoring him. “Have you lost your mind?!”

“No one will come looking for you hear,” Baelish reasoned. “Isn’t that what you wanted? I’m truly sorry for the location, however I know for a fact that no one would come looking for you here.”

Catelyn was still angry, however she could see at least some of his reasoning. “How did you come to know I was to be in King’s Landing?”

“A dear friend told me,” he said, motioning to a familiar eunuch entering the room. 

“Lady Stark,” the Master of Whispers said, bowing his head in respect. 

“Lord Varys,” she said in reply. 

“To see you again after so many years is a blessing,” the bald man said, but Catelyn narrowed her eyes at his kind words. 

“How did you know I was coming?”

“Knowledge is my trade, my lady. Did you bring the dagger with you, by chance? My little birds are everywhere. Even in the North. They whisper to me the strangest stories. Valyrian steel. And if Lord Stark’s eldest daughter is correct, a blade once belonged to the Targaryens. “

Catelyn took the dagger from her sleeve and presented it to the man. “Do you know whose dagger this is now?”

“I must admit I do not,” the Spider said with a grimace. 

“Wel wel,” Baelish said with a smirk. “This is a historic day. Something you don’t know that I do. There’s only one dagger like this in all of the Seven Kingdoms. It’s mine.”

“Yours?” Catelyn asked in confusion. How could Petyr have come to possess something so valuable?

“I had found the dagger upon the Trident, long after the battle had been finished and, being young and fascinated with grandeur, I kept it, not really knowing what it was of course. However it is mine no longer. I bet on Ser Jaime in jousting at Prince Joffrey’s last nameday tourney, as any sane man would. When the Knight is Flowers unseated hum, I lost the dagger.”

“To whom?” Catelyn asked in bated breath. 

“Tyrion Lannister,” Petyr replied. “The Imp.”

—

Catelyn has remained strong until the moment Ned walked through the door. She cried out in relief when she saw him. She ran to him as though she were a blushing bride once more reunited with him after the rebellion and embraced him fiercely. 

“My lady.” Oh, how she had missed his Northern voice, deep and rich with memory and years of a life they had built together. She would know that voice even once all memory was lost to her. 

“Oh, very good,” Petyr said, closing the door. “You recognized her.”

At any other time, Catelyn would snort, but not now, not when she had her beloved Ned in her arms once more. “I feared you would never come, my lord,” she whispered softly into his chest. “Petty has told me of your troubles with Arya and the young prince. Of Lady. How are my girls?”

“Both in mourning,” Ned said, stroking her hair, a habit he had picked up to soothe himself. “And full of anger. Cat,” he said. “I do not understand. What are you doing in King’s Landing? What’s happened? Is it Bran? Is he…”

“It is Bran,” she said. “But it is not what you think.”

Ned looked lost. “Then how? Why are you here, my love? What is this place?”

“Just as it appears,” Petyr said, sitting upon the window. “A brother. Can you think of a less likely place to find Catelyn Tully? As it changes, I own this particular establishment, so arrangements were easily made. I’m anxious to keep the Lannisters from learning that Cat is here.”

“Why?” It was then that Ned noticed her hands, the scars she had earned to protect their son. “You’ve been hurt.” He took her hands in his and pressed kisses to her palms. “Gods, those cuts are deep. A gash from a sword or… How did this happen?”

Catelyn showed him the dagger and placed it in his hands. “This blasé was sent to open Bran’s throat and murder him upon his healing bed.”

Ned’s expression darkened. “Who—”

She pressed a finger to his lips. “Let me tell you what happened, my love. It will go faster that way.”

And he listened to all she had to say, carefully mulling over her words as she spoke until she had reached the very end. 

“The Imp’s dagger,” Ned said softly. “Why would Tyrion Lannister wish Bran dead? The boy has never done him harm?”

“The Imp would have never acted alone,” Petyr said quietly. “Perhaps it was his coin and dagger that he used to carry out another man’s wish or woman’s?”

Ned’s expression darkened still. “If the queen had a role in this, or gods forbid, the king himself…”

Catelyn could see him think of the infant Targaryen prince and his sister and mother. They haunted her Ned, even if he never spoke of them. 

“Most likely the king did not know,” Peter continued. “It would not be the first time. Our good king is practiced at closing his eyes to things he would rather not see. Or doing things without thinking of the proper consequences.” He glanced at Cat. “Even I have heard of the she-wolf who was almost trapped by the stag.”

Catelyn thought of Celia’s trembling body and her fears to speak of what had almost happened to her to her father. “Ned,” she began. “There’s something else that you must know.”

—

Once they had discussed everything, Ned escorted her to a back alley where she would depart from King’s Landing.

“I wish I could see the girls,” she said softly. 

“It’s too dangerous,” Ned reasoned. 

“Just for a moment.”

Her husband shook his head. “Until we know who our enemies are…”

The knowledge of what his friend and almost brother had nearly done to Celia had shaken Ned to his very core. He had trembled in rage and had walked away from her when she had spoken of it to him. He had prowled about like a dangerous animal and kicked at a chair, knocking it over and cracking the back. “He dare call for Lady to pay for a crime,” he had said. “When he has nearly taken the honor of—” Catelyn has gone to him to soothe him and she was heartbroken for him. Heartbroken at his realization that Robert is not the man he once knew and that Celia had felt the need to speak silent of her treatment. Even Catelyn wondered what else the girl had kept from them to save them from worry. 

“I know they did it, Ned,” she said, speaking of Bran. “In my bones, I know it.”

Ned sighed. “Littlefinger is right. I can’t do anything without proof.”

“And if you find the proof?”

“Then I shall bring it to Robert,” he said.”and, if I must, I will remind him upon what pain he has brought to my daughters, all three of them.” He put all his attention on her then. “You watch yourself on the road,” he said gently. “That temper of yours is a dangerous thing.”

“My temper?”’Catelyn laughed, thinking of how she had found Ned with Petyr to the wall, his hand around his throat. “Gods be good, you nearly killed poor Littlefinger.”

“He still loves you,” Ned said, tucking a stray bit of hair behind her ear.

Catelyn smiled up at him. “Does he?”

Ned smiled and pressed his lips to hers. Catelyn put her hands upon his shoulders as his arms wrapped securely about her, deepening the kiss to near indecency in public. 

He pulled away and their breath mingled together as easy as winter air. “Until the next time,” he said softly. 

“Until then,” she said, pressing another chaste kiss upon his lips. 

“Off with you.”

He kissed her hand and he helped her into her horse. As she began to ride out of the city, Catelyn turned to look at her husband and smiled and he returned it with ease. 

It would be sweet to see him once more in Winterfell where he and their family all belonged. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gosh DARN it! NedCat is one of the healthiest ships in all of Asoiaf! 😭


	16. Celia VI

“I feel as though I will never truly be ready to run Winterfell as its lord,” Robb said from their father’s desk. 

Celia stopped her organizing and turned to look at him. He was focused upon one of the ledgers and his hair was dishevelled as though he had been running his fingers through it. There were dark circles under his eyes and Celia worried for him. She had been plagued by dreams, but he was plagued with worry. Even now the two of them had decided they might as well get some work done, even if it was by candlelight. 

She went to him and put a hand upon his shoulder while she used her other to fix his hair. “You need only wait a bit longer until Father and your mother return,” she said. “Besides, you have plenty of years until you are to be the true Lord of Winterfell, and by then you shall have a proper steward and a true Lady of Winterfell to assist you.” 

Robb sighed and put his hand over the one upon his shoulder. “I think you assist me enough in the position of my lady, Celia.” 

She smiled at him and felt her cheeks warm, although she convinced herself that it was only the candlelight and not her joy at his praise. “It is my duty as your sister to assist you in any way that I can,” she said. “Besides, I cannot allow Lady Catelyn to return from her journey to find that I have been slacking.” She pulled her hand away from his and felt it grow cold. “Besides, I am simply a bastard and must earn my keep.” 

Robb turned to her. “You are more than just your birth,” he told her, taking both her hands in his. “The only other person in our family I might trust this much is Jon.” 

“Not Sansa?” 

“I wish for Sansa to feel more freedom than being asked to serve me thus, besides, she feels like a child to me now.” 

Celia laughed. “Yet she is the one betrothed and you are still visiting the brothels.” 

Robb frowned and squeezed her hands. “I do not visit them any longer.” He paused. “Is that how you think of me?” 

She looked at him in confusion. “I mean no offence,” she said quickly. “I merely meant that Sansa is the only one of us to think firmly of marriage.” 

“Do you not think of marriage?”

“I do,” she admitted. “But my prospects are limited and it is up to our father and possibly your mother.” 

“Would you wish to marry Theon?” he asked, his voice flat.   
Celia stepped back, her hands slipping from his. “What does Theon have to do with this?”

“Nothing,” he said, standing and running his fingers through his hair. “I am just tired. I shall walk you to your chambers before I head to my own.” 

“Robb…” 

He offered her his arm and she took it quietly, not uttering a word until he wished her goodnight at her door. 

It felt as though there was a string connecting them. It was the only possible way she could explain the way her heart seemed to be tugged ever so slightly as he left. 

—

She was in Sansa’s room and yet it was most definitely not Sansa’s. The furniture was a dark wood instead of the lighter wood imported from the south. The furs were those of fox instead of wolf and the decoration seemed almost to match Arya’s interests instead of Sansa’s but Celia could not help but know that this was not Arya’s room. 

However, sitting at the desk was a girl that looked like Arya and Celia both. She must have been close to Celia’s age, if not just a tad younger and her clothes were of finer make than the ones that Celia wore. A noble lady then, but what was she doing in this room that looked so much like Sansa’s. 

The girl was reading over a letter and Celia walked closer to her to read them. They were obviously from someone that the girl found some interest in or at the very least trusted, as she seemed to blush at whatever was being said. 

_ My dearest lady knight, _

_ It wounds me that such fire and passion is to be disregarded and brought down low into the expectations of the fairer sex. Your aspirations and dreams are far too grand to be confined into marriage, especially those of my dear cousin, care for him as I might.  _

_ You were called for greater things than marriage and motherhood. It wounds me to hear that your pleas to your father and brothers continue to fall upon deaf ears. If it were based on my own decision, I would have you serve under the Sword of the Morning and train to be as great as Visenya Targaryen. Even without her mighty dragon she was a force to be reckoned with and I can sense her strength in you as well.  _

_ If you give me but a chance to give you the opportunity to be free and to break your engagement cleanly and allow for you to be free of your father’s hold as well. I can promise such things to you Lady Ly— _

The door of the chamber opened before Celia could continue reading and found a Stark looking boy entering the room. He did not look like Jon, but there was something that reminded her vaguely of Uncle Benjen. The girl at the desk quickly hid her letter. 

“Is that from  _ him _ ?” the boy asked. “I thought you said you were not going to write to him.”

The girl lifted her chin proudly. “I have not written to him recently,” she said. “It is he who writes to me and I merely answer him to be polite.”

“Father will be upset if you keep writing to him.” 

“Father will be pleased that I am making such friends in the south.” 

The boy’s gaze darkened. “He does not wish to be your friend, Lya,” he said. “I saw how he looked at you.” 

“And how did he look at me?” 

“Just as our brothers looked to Lady Ashara.” 

“This is different,” the girls said. 

“Brandon wished to bed the Dornish lady and Ned merely twitterpated over the attentions of a beautiful girl. He sees me as I am, a knight born to not be a lady of a keep or a mother to whatever lord Father sells me to.”

“He’s Ned’s best friend, he cannot be so bad. And he says he loves you.” 

“He has a bastard already.” 

“Before he even thought of you and the one who writes you letters is married with a child of his own and another on the way.” 

“That is why I am telling you it is not like our brothers and Lady Ashara.” 

“Lya.” 

“It is nothing for you to worry about, Benjen,” she said. “Now don’t go telling anyone, or else I’ll tell Father about how you snuck to peek into the brothel.” 

The boy’s cheeks turned bright red. “It’s not what it sounded like.” 

“Regardless, I doubt Father will be thrilled. So, you keep my secret and I’ll keep yours.” 

“I’ll keep your secret,” a voice came from behind Celia and she felt a cold hand wrap around her throat. “Do you think anyone would come for you if they knew the truth, knew what sort of dirty bastard and whore the great daughter of Ned Stark was?” 

Celia shot from her bed, grasping at her throat. Shadow lifted her dark head and looked to Celia in concern before licking her elbow and settling back to sleep. 

—

Celia sat upon the roots of the heart tree, allowing the greying wind to brush against her body like a lover’s embrace. It was a warm wind, perhaps the last hold of the Northern summer. She wished that she could remain there forever, but her duties to her family would need to be resumed soon. Bran and Rickon needed her in their mother’s absence, even if she could never truly fill that void. 

She needed to return to Theon’s advances and her strange closeness to Robb. She knew it was wrong, the way she noticed him, the way she felt at ease against his touch. 

For one thing she was a bastard…

And it should not even be her first thought. He was her brother, half-brother, but her brother nonetheless. 

Celia buried her face in her hands and groaned. It was simply because she needed him to protect her. Jon was different, he always was. Celia is only as safe as her closest trueborn male relative allows her to be. Her father is gone and now that duty is left to Robb. It is different from her dependence upon her father because she and Robb are so close in age. That was why. 

It  _ had  _ to be why. 

She clasped her hands together and prayed. Prayed that the gods could fix her for living as her father’s shame and disappointment would be her greatest unhappiness. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things are going to get a little hot next chapter 😘


	17. Robb VI

Since that late night or early morning in his solar, when he had asked her about Theon, when he had escorted her back to her rooms, Celia had withdrawn from him. Not completely, she still attended to her duties as the acting Lady of Winterfell, she still helped with Bran and Rickon, she still helped him in their father’s solar. However, she was withdrawn, as though the closeness they had achieved was somehow a dream in which he had found himself in. 

He missed that dream, those moments of finding one another in the darkest of the night and finding comfort in her arms as he navigated the duties his father had left for him and yet left him utterly helpless to. 

He had grown accustomed to Celia’s presence, always next to him. Robb had not even realized he had grown accustomed to her that now when she was so obviously avoiding him he felt hollow. It was as though a piece of him were missing, as though he were a chair missing its fourth leg. He was unstable and stumbling blindly against the expectations laid out before him. He needed Celia. He needed...

“Why are you avoiding me?” Robb asked softly, as he caught her in their father’s solar, looking at the grainery reports. 

She stilled for a moment before turning slightly to glance up at him. Her hair was loose that day, not a single braid, wild almost and free, but still well kept. Celia glanced away. “I’m not avoiding you.” 

“Look at me properly,” he asked gently, wanting her eyes upon him, wanting her to notice him as she had been avoiding since he had stepped into the solar. “And say it again.” 

She looked at him, her grey eyes calm and collected, and yet her breath hitched. He wondered what it was she saw in his eyes that made her look thus. “I am not avoiding you.” 

“Then why do you seem to flee from my very presence?”

“Our meetings at night are not proper.”

“How are they improper?” Robb asked, confused. 

“I am a bastard.” 

“Don’t speak of yourself like that.”

“But I am,” she reasoned. 

“You’re more than just a bastard, Celia,” he said gently, putting his hand to her cheek. “You’re my sister.” The word churned his stomach ever so slightly as she stepped away from him. 

“I’m still a bastard and people…”

“What people?” Robb said, feeling anger rise in his chest. “Has someone said something to hurt you?”

Celia shook her head quickly. “It’s nothing. I need to check on the granaries.”

She did not flee from his presence, but she left as quickly as she could away from his side. 

—

Robb had become a light sleeper in the time that his parents had been away. He wasn’t sure why that was. Perhaps this was how his father slept, constantly worried about those under his protection, worried that something might happen. He thought of Celia and Bran the most when he found that he could not sleep and he did not wish to wander the halls, because in his heart he knew that Celia would not be there to comfort him. 

Bran was struggling against the loss of his legs. He struggled against the world he would have to navigate. It did not help that their parents were gone. Their father left seemingly without much care for Bran and their mother had gone still praying for him as she went to discover who had done this to him. 

Rickon was on his mind too. His youngest brother was still wary of all that was going on around him, unsure of why his parents and Sansa and Arya were gone, why Jon was gone. When he wasn’t being looked after by the maester, he clung to Robb or Celia, hugging their legs as though to beg them not to leave and it broke his heart in how he had become so quite recently, as though he did not have the words to properly express himself and so it was better to not speak at all. 

And then there was Celia. He thought of her terror at the king’s touch and her words of worry on what others would say about their closeness. Had someone said something? Had another man made his interest known? Had Theon? Had someone made her uncomfortable? If so, why did she not come to him? Why didn’t she reach for him? He would help her in any way that he could, didn’t she know that?

Robb groaned and ran his fingers through his hair. He needed to have a proper conversation with her. It was his duty as her brother to protect her, it was his duty to her in general to make sure that she felt safe. Did Jon worry about her like this? Did Jon ever lie awake at night and wonder if he was protecting her properly? Did he ever agonize over what he could do to secure her future? 

Did their father even think on it? To Robb’s knowledge, her father had no plans for Celia or her prospects. If Theon was telling the truth, his mother had considered Theon. Did his father? Did he think Theon would be a good match for her? The Ironborn had been raised in recent years in the North, but would he treat Celia well? Would his father allow for him to marry a bastard? And yet… she would become the lady of her own keep if she married Theon. She would be a matriarch of one of the great houses. 

Did she want that?

Robb was startled only slightly as the door to his room opened slowly. He didn’t sense a threat and Grey Wind did not growl, rather leaving Robb’s bed to greet whoever it was that had come in. He sat up and found Rickon walking to his bed sleepily, with Shaggydog padding behind him. Grey Wind greeted his brother as Robb lifted his sheets and allowed his little brother to climb into bed next to him.

“Did you have a nightmare, sweetling?” he asked gently, laying down and pulling the furs over both of them, hugging Rickon to him gently.

Rickon grunted, obviously still very tired and wanting to fall back asleep as quickly as possible. 

Robb smiled and kissed his brother’s curls before steadily falling back to sleep. 

—

Celia had turned her attention to Theon, or, at least, that is how it felt. He seemed to have taken it upon himself to become her escort, following her around the keep as she did her duty. Something in the pit of Robb’s stomach seemed to burn when he saw his friend trail behind Celia, his fingers reaching out slightly to brush them against the ribbon at her skirt, as though it were the closest he could get to caressing her body. 

Robb’s belly burned in anger at the sight of it, the way Celia did not seem to notice or care. 

“If you are going to pursue my sister,” Robb told his friend firmly. “Treat her with as much respect as you would Sansa.” 

Theon looked at him, his eyebrow cocked. “What do you know? It’s not as though you understand what it is to charm a girl you want to marry. All you know how to do is stick your cock somewhere.” 

Robb’s cheeks turned as red as his hair, but more than embarrassment, he felt anger. He stepped forward quickly, grabbing Theon by the collar and slamming him to the wall. “You better not be doing anything to disgrace Celia,” he seethed. “If you do, I’ll have your head.” 

Theon pushed Robb’s hand away, breaking his hold. “Do you think I disrespect her or your father so much that I would do anything to hurt her? Do you think so little of me that you think I would do anything to disgrace her?”

Robb felt bad about his wording, but he would not back down. “It’s my duty to make sure that she’s safe and cared for.”

“And I’m taking care of her.” 

Robb opened his mouth to speak. 

“Stop it, both of you.” They turned and saw Celia standing at the entrance of the hall. “You’re both making fools of yourselves.” 

“Celia—” Theon said, her name choking upon his tongue.

“You two are grown men, stop acting like children squabbling over a toy.” 

Robb blushed. 

“We have duties we need to attend to, so stop arguing and get moving.” She turned away from them. 

“Celia, wait,” Robb started. 

“I’m not someone worth arguing over. You two are being ridiculous. Theon, you do not have to escort me everywhere, I am safe in Winterfell. Robb, you do not have to speak for me, I have a mind of my own. You need not dictate it.” She turned from them fully and walked away briskly, leaving both of them alone in their chastisement.

—

Robb thrust into her slowly, excruciatingly slow, her nails digging into his back as he did so. Her heels encouraged him to go faster, but he needed this to be slow. He didn’t know why, but he needed it to be, almost as though he never wanted it to be over, never wanted to leave her, wished to be buried between her thighs and stay there forever. 

But even though he was slow, it did not mean that there was no force as his hips ground into hers. He could feel her breath upon his skin like flames, licking at the sweat of their coupling, the proof that he was enjoying this. His face was buried in her neck, smelling the firewood and the silk and the fur. She smelled like heaven as her fingers went into his hair, fisting at his curls, guiding his lips to the sensitive spot in her neck. 

He began to suck on it greedily, her gasps and sighs of relief urging his hips forward. A little faster. Gods, just a little faster. 

_Robb. Robb._ His name was like an answered prayer upon his lips as he became more earnest. 

_Mine_. He pulled away from her completely and put her on her hands and knees taking her that way. Like a wolf, like a direwolf. 

_Yes._ She threw her head back against his shoulder, her dark hair slipping down her shoulder like nightfall as he began to thrust more earnestly, cupping her breast, and sucking on her sink as though she were the only sustenance he would be allowed, as though she were the only thing that could possibly sustain him. 

_Robb!_

“Celia…” 

He awoke with a sudden shock and his furs ruined from his release. Robb stumbled from his bed, feeling sick. He heaved into his empty chamberpot, but nothing would come out. Only dry hot heaves that only burned his stomach worse than before. 

He felt disgusted with himself, disgusted at what had happened. How could he… Why would he…

Robb went to his water basin and threw cold water onto his face. He held onto the edge of the table, trying to calm himself. 

It was just a dream, just a dream, just a dream. It didn’t mean anything. It didn’t mean anything. It didn’t mean anything. 

His body was flush with want and Robb could not take it anymore. He lifted the basin and poured the water, letting the cold rain down upon his body until he was numb to it all, shame bubbling in his stomach, curtling the desire until it was snuffed out like a still flickering candle, the embers of the wick flickering beneath the surface. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not like Freud, but I feel like he would have a lot to say about this.
> 
> And so, Robb is the first to fell this sort of inclination about Celia. I know some people might be uncomfortably with that, however, 1) it’s a dream, Robb has no control over his dreams, and 2) both of them are under extremely stressful situations and there’s no (for lack of a better term) way for them to release their emotions. And while they are close, they are not as close as they are now simply because Celia spent a great chunk of her time with Sansa as opposed to with the boys and Arya.
> 
> I ALSO CAN’T BELIVE I HAVE TO SAY THIS:  
> Do not hate on Cat. Do not act like she is a worthless person. She is a kick butt woman and deserves more than the hate people give her.


	18. Catelyn VI

“My Lord Lannister,” the young singer called, hoping for the lion’s gold as Lord Tyrion Lannister entered the inn at which Catelyn and Ser Rodrik were stopping. “Might I entertain you while you eat? I can sing of your father’s victory at King’s Landing!” 

“Nothing would more likely ruin my supper,” the Imp laughed. His mismatched gaze turned to her. “Lady Stark,” he called slowly, and she turned to him, unable to ignore him any longer. “What an unexpected pleasure. I was sorry to have missed you at Winterfell.” 

Catelyn tensed as the murmurings of her title rippled across the inn’s patrons like a stone tossed upon the water. Surely Lord Tyrion would tell his family of who he saw upon his return. She doubted she could say she was coming from visiting the Eyrie or Riverrun, she was not yet far enough for such a lie to be founded. Besides, the queen had seen Catelyn in her distress and would no doubt sense the lie. 

She stood, letting her head scarf fall around her shoulders. “I was still Catelyn Tully the last time I stayed here,” she said slowly, searching the crowd. “You, ser… Is that the black bat of Harrenhal I see embroidered onto your coat?”

“It is, my lady,” the knight said.

“And is my cousin, Lady Whent a true and honest friend of my father, Lord Hoster Tully of Riverrun.” 

“She is,” he nodded. 

Catelyn turned again and saw another sigil. “The red stallion was always a welcome sight at Riverrun,” she said to another. “My father counts Jonas Bracken amongst his oldest and most loyal bannermen.” 

The other knight nodded his appreciation. “Our lord is honored by his trust.” 

“I envy your father and all his fine friends,” the Imp said. “But I don’t quite see the purpose of this.” 

Catelyn ignored him. “I know your sigil as well,” she said as she turned to look at another man. “The twin towers of House Frey. How fares your lord, ser?”

“Lord Walder is well, my lady,” the man said. “He has asked your father for the honor of his presence on his 90th nameday. He plans to take another wife.”

The Imp scoffed. 

Catelyn turned to him. “This man,” she said slowly. “Came into my house as a guest and there conspired to murder my son, a boy of ten.” She lifted her chin. “In the name of King Robert and the good lords you serve, I call upon you to seize him and help me return him to Winterfell to await the king’s justice.”

The knights, even those she had not called upon, drew their swords and aimed them at the Imp, ready to do as their lady bid. 

—

Lord Tyrion was forcibly removed from the horse and set upon the ground by one of the knights. 

“Remove his hood,” Catelyn ordered. 

“On that eve,” the singer, Marillion sang. “The captive Imp downwards from his horse did limp, no more would he preen and primp, in garb of red and gold.” 

The subject of the song glared at the singer and then looked about himself as he was forced towards where Catelyn stood. “This isn’t the Kingsroad,” he said. “You said we were riding for WInterfell.” 

She tilted her head and allowed for a smile to grace her lips. “I did,” she said. “Often and loudly.” 

Tyrion Lannister sneered. “Very wise,” he said. He turned to speak to all of the men present, still preening. “They’ll be out in droves, looking for me in the wrong place. Word’s probably gotten to my father by now. He’ll be offering me a handsome reward. Everyone knows a Lannister always pays his debts. Would you be so good as to untie me?”

“And why would I do that?” she asked.

“Why not? Am I going to run? The hill tribes would kill me for my boots. Unless a shadowcat ate me first, of course.” 

“Shadowcats and hill tribes are the least of your concern,” she said through gritted teeth. 

“Ah,” the Lannister said, seeming to take in his surroundings. “The eastern road. We’re going to the Vale.” He looked to Catelyn. “You’re taking me to your sister’s to answer for my imagined crimes. Tell me, Lady Stark, when was the last time you saw your sister?”

“Five years ago.” 

“She’s changed. She was always a bit touched, but now… you might as well kill me here.” 

“I am not a murderer, Lannister,” she growled.

“Neither am I!” he exclaimed. “I had nothing to do with the attempt on your son’s life!” 

“The dagger found—”

“What sort of imbecile arms an assassin with his own blade?” 

“Shall I gag him?” Ser Rodrik asked.

“Why?” Lord Tyrion asked. “Am I starting to make sense?” 

Catelyn tensed, but she had come so far already. She could not stop now. 

—

They were within the Eyrie, standing before her sister upon the weirwood throne of House Arryn. Robert Arryn, or Robin as her sister called him, was sitting on her lap, breastfeeding, even though he was clearly too old to do so.

“You bring him here without permission?” her sister accused. “You pollute my home with his presence?” Lysa turned her attention to her son. “Your aunt has done a bad thing, RObin, a very bad thing.” The boy turned to look at Catelyn, an off look in his eyes. “You remember her don’t you?” She turned back to Catelyn. “Isn’t he beautiful? And strong too. Jon knew it. His last words were  _ the seed is strong.  _ He wanted everyone to know what a good, strong boy his son would grow up to be. Look at him,” she touched his cheek and smiled proudly. “The lord of all the Vale.” 

“Lysa,” Catelyn said carefully. “You wrote me about the Lannisters, warning me t—”

“To stay away from them!” her sister shouted over her. “Not bring one here!” 

“Mommy?” Robin asked peering at Tyrion Lannister. “Is that a bad man?”

Lysa lifted her chin. “It is.” 

“He’s little,” the boy said, tilting his head in confusion. 

“He’s Tyrion,” she said. “The Imp of House Lannister. He killed your father. He murdered the Hand of the King!” 

Catelyn’s blood ran cold, perhaps she should not have brought Lord Tyrion to the Eyrie. Perhaps it would have been better to take him to Riverrun.

“Oh?” the Lannister asked. “Did I kill him too? I’ve been a very busy man.” 

“You will watch your tongue!” Lysa shouted. “These men are Knights of the Vale. Every one of them loved Jon Arryn and every one of them would die for me and Robin.” 

“If any harm comes to me, my brother, Jaime, will see they do.” 

“You can’t hurt us!” Robin shouted, standing and stomping his foot. “No one can hurt us here! Tell him, Mommy! Tell him!” 

“Shh,” Lysa hushed, pulling her son back onto her lap and holding him tightly. “Shh, my sweet boy. He’s just trying to frighten us. Lannisters are all liars. No one will hurt my baby.” 

“Mommy,” Robin said, peering at Lord Tyrion. “I want to see the bad man fly.” 

Lysa turned her gaze to the Imp. “Perhaps you will, my little love.” 

Catelyn stepped forward. “This man is my prisoner,” she said. “I will not have him harmed. Not until he is found guilting of trying to murder my son. My  _ son _ , Lysa.”

Her sister pursed her lips. “Ser Vardis,” she said. “My sister’s guest is weary. Take him down below so he can rest. Introduce him to Mord.”

—

Catelyn stood next to her sister and nephew upon their throne. Robin tapped his knife against the throne and Catleyn had to hold her tongue from reprimanding him. It was not her place to do so. 

“You wish to confess your crimes?” Lysa asked as Lord Tyrion was brought before them. 

“Yes, my lady,” the Imp said with a slight bow of his head. “I do, my lady.” 

“Skycells,” Lysa told Catelyn. “Always breaks them.” She returned her attention to the Lannister. “Speak, Imp. Meet your gods as an honest man.” 

“Why do I begin, my lords and ladies?” the man asked, turning to the crowd. “I’m a vile man, I confess it. My crimes and sins are beyond counting. I have lied and cheated, gambled and whored. I’m not particularly good at violence, but I am good at convincing others to do violence for me. You want specifics, I suppose. When I was seven, I saw a servant girl bathing in the river. I stole her robe. She was forced to return to the keep, naked and in tears. I close my eyes and I can still see her tits bouncing. When I was ten, I stuffed my uncle’s boots with goat shit. When confronted with my crime, I blamed a squire. Poor boy was flogged and I escaped justice. When I was twelve, I milked my eel into a pot of turtle stew. I flogged the one-eyed snake. I skinned my sausage. I made the bald man cry into the turtle stew, which I do believe my sister ate—or, at least, I hope she did. I once brought a jackass and a honeycomb into a brothel—”

“Silence!” Lysa shouted. 

“What happened next?” Robin asked, enthralled by the little man. 

“What are you doing?” Lysa demanded. 

The Imp smiled. “Confessing my crimes.”

Catelyn straightened. “Lord Tyrion, you are accused of hiring a man to slay my son Bran in his bed, and of conspiring to murder my sister’s husband, Lord Jon Arryn, the Hand of the King.” 

“Oh,” the man said in mock surprise. “I’m very sorry. I don’t know anything about that.” 

“You’ve had your little joke,” Lysa sneered. “I trust you enjoyed it. Mord,” she turned to the lumbering man. “Take him back to the dungeon. But this time find a smaller cell with a steeper floor.” 

“Is this how justice is done in the Vale?” Lord Tyrion asked. “You accuse me of crimes, I deny them, so you throw me in a cell to freeze and starve? Where is the king’s justice? I’m accused and demand a trial.” 

“If you’re tried and found guilty,” Lysa said. “Then by the king’s own laws you will pay with your life.” 

“I understand the law,” Lord Tyrion said sternly. 

“We have no executioner in the Eyrie,” Lysa continued. “Life is more elegant here.” She turned to her men. “Open the Moon Door.” 

Several men began to unwind a giant crank on one side of the room. Between the Imp and the raised weirwood throne the well’s floor began to open and wind began to howl through, rushing into the room like it would if one were riding a horse. Robin began to laugh and clapped his hands happily. Lord Tyrion looked down to see what was through the door and Catelyn could see his face pale. 

“You want a trial, my Lord Lannister?” Lysa asked. “Very well. My son will listen to whatever you have to say, and you will hear his judgement. Then, you will leave, by one door or the other.” 

“No need to bother Lord Robert,” Lord Tyrion said. “I demand a trial by combat.” 

A stifled laughter filled the room as the two sisters exchanged looks. 

“You have the right,” Lysa said carefully. 

“My lady,” a knight said, stepping forward. “I beg the honor. Let me be your champion.” 

“The honor should be mine,” another said. “For the love I bore your lord husband, let me avenge his death.” 

“I’ll fight for you, my lady,” said another.

“It’ll be my honor,” another added.

“The honor should be mine,” yet another said.

“Make the bad man fly!” Robin demanded. 

“Ser Vardis,” Lysa said. “You’re quiet. Did you want to avenge my husband?” 

“With all my heart, my lady,” the knight in question said with a bow of his head. “But the Imp is half my size. It would be shameful to slaughter such a man and call it justice.” 

“Agreed,” said the Imp.

Lysa turned to him. “You demanded a trial by combat.” 

“And now I demand a champion,” the Lannister lord said. “I have that right, same as you.” 

“My lady,” Ser Vardis said. “I would gladly fight the Imp’s champion for you.” 

“I wouldn’t be too glad, ser,” Lord Tyrion said. “I name my brother, Ser Jaime Lannister.” 

The room shuddered at the mention of the Kingslayer. 

“The Kingslayer is hundreds of miles from here,” Lysa exclaimed. 

“Send a raven for him,” Lord Tyrion said. “I’m happy to wait.”

“The trial will be today,” Lysa said plainly. 

The Imp grimaced. “Do I have a volunteer?”

The room was quiet save for the stifled laughter. 

“Anyone?” Lord Tyrion asked, his face draining of color. “Anyone?”

When no one answered, Lysa smiled. “I think that we can assume that no one is willing—”

A man stepped forward. “I’ll stand for the dwarf.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Celia is going to have a rather... hot moment next chapter. And we’ll hear a little about Lyanna as well.


	19. Celia VII

Rickon laid curled into Celia. His face buried in her chest as though trying to find some resemblance of his mother in her, even though she knew that he knew she was not Lady Catelyn. Sweet Rickon had grown quiet recently, throwing fits and not wishing to use his words, growing wild like Shaggydog already. He would pout and cry out angrily when Robb or Theon did not pay attention. He threw his books about when Maester Luwin tried to sit him down for lessons. He would hide behind Celia’s skirts and demand his mother. 

When they told him she was not there he would cry and scream until he was red in the face and his cheeks streamed with angry tears. He would hit Celia’s arms or Robb’s legs or Theon’s chest whenever the Ironborn attempted to hold him so that he might not hurt himself. 

Bran seemed to be the only one to help, but Celia’s brother was often resting and needed to work on the horse they were raising for him and Rickon could accidentally run underfoot and so Celia had to occasionally keep them separated.

Now, Rickon was once again silent, his tears having run out, but his eyes raw from them. One hand was fisted around Celia’s braid and the other was fisted against her cotton shift. He had finally worn himself out and Celia had decided it was best to simply put him to bed with her that night instead of in the nursery for Old Nan to look after. 

Robb had kissed the top of Rickon’s curls as he buried his face in Celia’s neck as she picked him up to carry him to her chambers. He had kissed her cheek as well and Celia walked away quickly, embarrassment rising to her cheeks. 

Rickon whimpered, drawing Celia back once more to her baby brother and continued to stroke his hair. 

_ Deep in the meadow, under the willow. _

_ A bed of grass, a soft green pillow. _

_ Lay down your head, and close your eyes. _

_ And when they open, the sun will rise. _

_ Here it's safe, and here it's warm. _

_ Here the daisies guard you from every harm. _

_ Here your dreams are sweet, and tomorrow brings them true. _

_ Here is the place where I love you. _

_ Deep in the meadow, hidden far away. _

_ A cloak of green, a moon beam ray. _

_ Forget your woes, and let your troubles lay. _

_ And when again it's morning, they'll wash away. _

_ Here it's safe, and here it's warm. _

_ Here the daisies guard you from every harm. _

_ Hre your dreams are sweet, and tomorrow brings them true. _

_ Here is the place where I love you. _

Rickon’s hand loosened from her braid and he seemed to have finally drifted off to sleep. Celia kissed the top of his head and prayed that Lady Catelyn would return soon. 

—

As the eldest Stark daughter by blood residing within Winterfell, it was her duty to manage the household in Lady Catelyn’s absence. She was not resentful of such a fact, as many of the residence of Winterfell were aware of the fact that she had been left in charge by the Lady of Winterfell herself, it was more of the fact that many treated her age as a reason as to why she would not understand the inner workings of the keep, her  _ home _ .

She was just as old as Robb and yet she was not deemed old enough to manage the keep on her own without plenty of people giving her their own input as though she had not followed Lady Stark around since she had been allowed to. As though somehow, because of her sex, she was being treated like a child in the ways of leadership, while none seemed to bother Robb with such things. 

“They’ve known you since you were a babe, my lady,” Theon told her when she vented to him as he set on his armor for the training yard to practice archery with Rickon. 

She knew it was unbecoming and only proved everyone’s point, but she pouted nonetheless. “I am of a marriageable age and, if I were trueborn, I would be married already with a keep of my own to manage.” 

“Aye,” Theon agreed. He stood and lifted his arms above his head to stretch, revealing a bit of skin at his stomach, a dark thatch of hair shown as well. Celia looked away quickly, blushing terribly. “But it matters not. Adults will always see us as babes. Look at Old Nan,” he said. “I’m certain I heard her call Lord Stark  _ sweet boy  _ once.” 

“You did not,” she gasped. 

Theon threw his head back and laughed merrily. “I swear by the drowned gods that I did. I even saw the lord blush at it. Anyone old enough to be a parent or grandparent will see us as children, even if we are old enough to marry.” 

“Still,” Celia said, returning her gaze to Theon once he had straightened. “I wish that they treated me with a little more respect. Surely I have afforded that much in all that I have done thus far.” 

The Ironborn smirked at her and sauntered over to her, bending down slightly so that he was of her height. “If one of the eldest Stark children is an adult, it only makes them all feel older,” he said. “They respect you, Celia. They simply wish for you to remain a child longer, I am certain Lord Stark would feel the same.” 

“I am not a child.” 

Theon kept his gaze level with hers. “Believe me, my lady. I am well aware.” 

Celia’s body grew flush, her skin cold and clammy as heat began to rise dangerously to her cheeks, their color no doubt the same as Robb’s hair. Pleased with her reaction, Theon smirked and winked at her before pressing a quick kiss to the corner of her lips. 

Broken from the embarrassment, Celia smacked him hard on the shoulder. “Damn you, Theon Greyjoy!”

He laughed, swatting away her further attempts at battery and walked away, waving to her as he did so. 

—

All Celia could feel was the heat. 

Her body burned and yet it did not.

His fingers trailed up her thighs and brushed along her hips until they curled into her flesh and held her flush against the bed, against him. It was like she couldn’t breath yet she had never felt more alive. 

There was a dull ache between her legs that she could not explain, at yet she knew, she knew. The servants of Winterfell held back nothing around the bastard daughter of their lord, not as they would for Sansa or Arya. She had never experienced a man’s touch like this before, but she knew what she wanted… She wanted relief.

The ache between her legs was becoming unbearable as the man above her began to kiss at her neck, like fire licking at the sweat of her skin. Celia moaned beneath him as he pulled away to look at her. His blue eyes dark with want and his red curls plastered to his brow like a crown of copper. 

Celia shot up from her bed with a gasp. It was her cheeks that burned now, her body freezing with a thin layer of sweat clinging to her skin.

She wrapped her arms around herself, shivering against the frosted air, her breath billowing from her lips like smoke. No. No, she would not… She could not…

It was not Robb. No, she refused to think such a horrid thing. It was not Robb. It was a man who was similar in coloring. Perhaps a man she had seen amongst the king’s retinue. Perhaps a trader from further North. Perhaps a man of the Night Watch she had seen once when Uncle Benjen or Harlon visited. It could not be Robb. It couldn’t be him. 

Perhaps it had been the lighting of the dream. Perhaps the hair had not been red but a dark brown. Perhaps his eyes were not blue but a deep green. 

It was Theon, she decided. It had to be Theon. 

It had to be. 

—

Celia helped Old Nan to her bed. The elderly woman was highly respected amongst the people of the keep, her age and wisdom often sought after. Celia could recall occasionally sitting at the old woman’s side in the kitchens as Old Nan gave the young women of the keep and Wintertown advice. 

“Come to bed, my lady,” Celia said gently, helping the woman settle in her large comfortable bed, which, in all honesty, was possibly nicer than Celia’s father and his wife’s bed. She tucked Old Nan in and pressed a kiss to her velvety wrinkled skin. 

“Lyanna,” Old Nan said, patting Celia’s cheek. 

Celia bit her lip. The elderly woman had often confused Celia and Jon for their aunt or father, or even one of their uncles. “Yes, Old Nan?”

“Follow your heart, sweet girl,” she said. “I am certain if you explained it all to Lord Stark, he would understand. As would your mother, gods bless her soul.” 

Celia smiled sadly. “Of course, Old Nan,” she said sweetly. “Of course.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please know that Old Nan was not telling Lyanna to run away, but to actually talk more directly to her father about not wanting to marry Robert.


	20. Robb VII

Robb watched as Bran rode on his new horse, Dancer. It made Robb’s heart swell at the sight of him. If one did not look too closely at the saddle, one would never know that there was something wrong with his legs. He was able to do something they all could do. Robb could imagine his mother’s face lighting up with joy at the sight of him. He could see his father’s pride shine in his eyes, a look all the children longed for that was more often reserved for Arya. Once they return home, things could go back to normal, especially when Jon would find time to visit. 

“Not too fast,” Robb called to his brother as Bran eased his horse forward. 

“When are you going to tell him?” Theon asked beside him. 

Robb’s jaw clenched. “Not now.”

When the news had come, Celia had shut herself in the nursery with Rickon, trying helplessly to be cheerful for their youngest brother. He had checked on her before he had left and kissed her brow gently to soothe her. 

“Blood for blood,” Theon continued. “You need to make the Lannisters pay for Joey and the others.”

“You’re speaking of war.”

“I’m speaking of justice,” Theon insisted. “We cannot let this stand. They would do this to your father and still expect Sansa to marry the chit.”

“Only the Lord of Winterfell can call in the bannermen to raise an army and I… my father is still the lord, I am only acting in his place.”

“A Lannister put his spear through your father’s leg and the Kingslayer rides to Casterly Rock where no one can touch—”

“You want me to march on Casterly Rock?”

“We are not boys anymore. They attacked your father, they’ve already started a war. It’s your duty to represent your house when your father can’t.”

“And it’s not your duty because it’s not your house.” Robb was going to say more but then he realized that he could not hear Bran. “We need to split up and find where my brother has gotten to.”

“By all the gods this is like when Rickon first learned to walk.”

The two went their separate ways and Robb went further into the wood. He began to hear voices and his breath caught in his throat as he heard an unfamiliar voice with an unfamiliar accent speak. 

“Piss on Mance Rayder and piss on the North. We’re going as far south as south goes. There ain’t no white walkers down in Dorne.”

Robb stepped forward towards the four wildlings and Bran’s horse. “Drop the knife,” he ordered, drawing his sword. “Let him go and I’ll let you live.”

One of the wildlings rushed at Robb who leaned back as he stepped to miss the steel of the axe and countered by slashing the man’s throat. Another wildling, a woman, charged Robb, but he tossed her aside, grabbing at her hair. He fought off another wilding, stabbing him in the chest. 

“Robb!”

He looked up and saw that Bran had been taken off his horse and the fourth wilding had a knife to his throat. Robb’s heart began to thud in his throat. 

“Shut up!” the wildling ordered. “Drop the blade!” he directed at Robb. 

“No,” Bran said, his voice trembling. “Don’t.”

“Do it,” the wildling ordered. 

Robb looked at Bran and then the wilding. His parents had left him in charge of his younger brothers and Celia. He couldn’t… he would not let his brother die. Not when he could stop it. Still gripping the woman by her hair, Robb slowly set his sword to the ground, keeping his eye on the wildling as well. As he set his sword down, an arrow shot through and poked from his chest. The wildling dropped his knife and Bran and collapsed to the side. 

Theon was a few yards away, his bow drawn.

Robb let the woman go and rushed to Bran. He saw that his leg had been cut. Although it was not bad, the skin was already irritated. “Are you alright?”

“Yes,” Bran said as Robb picked him up in his arms. “It doesn’t hurt.”

“Tough little lad,” Theon said. “You were a right brave boy, Bran. I doubt even the toughest Stark soldier would have been as calm as you.”

“Have you lost your mind?” Robb nearly shouted. “What if you’d missed?”

“He would have killed you and cut Bran’s throat. I made sure to aim high enough.”

“You don’t have the right—”

“To what? Save your brother’s life. It was the only thing to do, so I did it.”

Robb turned his gaze to the wildling woman that Theon had an arrow pointed at. “What about her?”

“Please,” the woman said, on her hands and knees. “Give me my life, my lord, and I’m yours.”

Robb sighed. “We’ll keep her alive.”

—

Robb set down the letter. “Treason?” He almost laughed at the ridiculous nature of the word. “Sansa wrote this?”

“It’s Sansa’s hand, but the queen’s words no doubt.” Celia picked the letter up and read through it. “She’s using our cipher.”

“Your cipher?” Theon asked. 

“We used it in lessons when we didn’t want the septa or any of you to know what we were talking of,” she said absently, as though there was no point in speaking of such things. “Arya is missing.” She paused, looking over the letter again. “And the betrothal hasn’t been broken. She’s still forced to act the part.”

“Damn it,” Robb said through gritted teeth. There was very little he could do with the betrothal unbroken. She was safe, in a way, but it meant that Sansa would be unable to speak openly against the crown. What was more, Arya was missing which was either a good thing or a bad thing. 

“You are summoned to King’s Landing, regardless,” said Maester Luwin. “To swear loyalty to the new king.”

“Joffrey puts my father in chains,” Robb said. “Now he wants his ass kissed?”

“It’s a royal command,” Celia countered. “At the very least we might get Sansa back and perhaps Father will be given some sort of leniency if you—”

“I won’t refuse,” Robb said firmly. “His grace summons me to King’s Landing, I’ll go to King’s Landing. But not alone.” Robb looked to the maester. “Call the banners.”

“All of them, my lord?” Maester Luwin asked. 

“They’ve all sworn to defend my father, have they not?”

“They have.”

“Now we see what their words are worth.”

The maester bowed his head and left to do as he was bid. 

“Robb,” Celia said as he sat. “You cannot be serious. This would be considered an act of war.”

“We cannot sir and act like sheep when we have already been shown that the Lannisters will not play fair.” He ran his fingers through his hair. 

“Are you afraid?” Theon asked. 

Robb glances down at his shaking hand. “I must be.”

“Good,” Theon chuckled. 

“Why is that good?”

“It means you’re not stupid.”

“Just because one is not stupid,” Celia said. “Does not mean that he cannot be foolish.”

—

The Northern lords were hosted in a feast with Robb sitting at the head of the main table amongst them, the head of other great houses surrounding him. Celia had set everything up, making sure that certain lords were not sitting next to each other and making sure that certain foods were not given to certain lords. She would have done Robb’s mother proud at her work. 

She had made sure to have him dressed properly, like their lord father, only with hints of Tully blue embroidery across the hem of his shirt. He felt every inch a lord, and wished that Celia could sit beside him, knowing she would be much better at calming men than he would be. However, she had stayed with Rickon in the nursery so that she would not be overstepping her perceived place, which should be by his side. Now, he had only Theon and Bran with him. 

“For thirty years,” Lord Greatjon Umber said. “I’ve been making corpses out of men, boy. I’m the man you want leading the vanguard.”

“Galbart Glover will lead the van,” Robb said carefully. 

“The bloody Wall will melt before an Umber marches behind a Glover,” the lord said angrily. “I will lead the van or I will take my men and march them home.”

“You are welcome to do so, Lord Umber,” Robb said forcefully. “And when I am done with the Lannisters, I will march back North, root you out of your keep and hang you for an oathbreaker.”

“Oathbreaker, is it?!” Lord Umber stood up, knocking his chair to the ground. “I’ll not sit here and swallow insults from a boy so green he pisses grass.” 

He began to draw his sword, but Grey Wind leapt onto the table and rushed forward, charging at the man. A pained roar echoed across the keep as Robb stood. Grey Wind returned to Robb’s side and Lord Umber stood up, revealing that he was now down two fingers. 

“My lord father taught me it was death to bare steel against your leige lord,” he said before looking at the other men. “But doubtless, the Greatjon only meant to cut my meat for me.”

Lord Umber was shaking. “You’re meat…” He smiled. “Is bloody tough.”

The man began to laugh and Robb released a breath he hadn’t known he had been holding and laughed along with him. Happy to avoid any more conflict. 

—

“You are to leave the North in a few days,” Celia said, entering the solar he had been using as his own since their father left. 

She was dressed in her night dress, a quilt wrapped around her, slipping off her shoulders like a robe might. Her dark hair was loose and fell past her shoulders like nightfall. 

Robb recalled his dream and averted his gaze, returning it to his work. “We are. You are to remain here with Bran and Rickon.”

“I can’t.”

Robb paused and returned his eyes to her. “Can’t?”

She stepped closer into the candlelight. “Robb, I am a bastard.”

“Celia—”

“And I am a woman.” Robb kept his gaze level with her eyes. “I am left in a precarious position if I am left in charge of Bran and Rickon. They are left in a precarious position if they are with only me as their protector.”

“Celia,” Robb began. “You would never do anything to hurt them.”

“I am not saying that isn’t true. I would die for our brothers if it meant their safety. But we cannot trust that someone won’t take advantage of the situation.”

“Advantage how?”

“If someone were to compromise me, if someone were to have me Mary them before the heart tree—”

“I would never let you be forced into a marriage you do not want, Celia,” Robb said, standing. 

She smiled at him and put a hand on his arm. “I know, but you would not be here.” She withdrew her hand and the place that she touched burned hot against the cold air in her absence. “I would be left without protection for Bran and Rickon are in no position to protect me as you and Father have. If someone were to force a marriage, they might force themselves as acting lords of the keep.”

“Celia—”

“If the Lannisters are willing to push a lord’s son from a tower to possibly keep their power, then they would have no qualms in using a bastard to lay claim to a keep that is not theirs. If the rumors of Joffrey are true, they are already doing it.”

Robb closed his eyes, knowing what she was saying was true. “Celia, we might be riding into battle, we might be going to war. I cannot put you in danger. I could not live with myself if you got hurt on my account when I should be watching out for you.”

“Robb, I am trained in the art of healing and I would be of help. I would not be a burden. Please, let me come with you or I shall ride a few days after you have left and be alone in my journey to catch up to you.”

Robb’s lips formed a thin line. “Fine,” he said. “But you are to stay close to me at all times when you are able. Understood?”

Celia nodded and dipped her head before returning to her room. 

Robb sat back down and covered his face with his hands. The truth was he did not wish for her to leave his side either. He sat there for a long moment, his heart pounding in his chest. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We’re getting closer to the end of the first book and hooooooo boi will there be angst


	21. Catelyn VII

Catelyn rode towards the Northern tents, snow like patchwork upon the green grass. She had never thought to feel so warmed by the sight of the color grey, but she was, her heart pounded lightly in her chest at the sight. All of this for Ned and her girls. The North has rallied once more for their beloved lord and her son was here to lead them. 

She wished that Ned could see the son they had raised being every inch the man he had dreamed Robb would be. 

“Summer snows, my lady,” Ser Rodrik said with a smile. 

Catelyn nodded. “Robb’s brought the North with him.”

Once they had dismounted from their horses, she was greeted by two large wolves that could only be Grey Wind and Shadow. They sniffed at her hands, as though trying to place who she was. 

“Lady Catelyn,” Celia’s voice came. 

She looked up, surprised that the girl was there. She was dressed simply, more so than she had been in Winterfell. Her hair was tied back and she wore an apron and her sleeves rolled up as though to be away from her hands. 

Catelyn smiled and brought the girl into her arms and Celia hugged her back. “I did not think you would be here,” she admitted. 

“I thought it wise to not let an unmarried daughter of Lord Stark, bastard or not, be left to be used by those who might find opportunity in it.” They moved apart and Celia dipped into a short curtsy. “I hope you find no fault in my reasoning.”

Catelyn smiled. “And Bran?”

“He woke not long before we had word that Sansa’s wolf, Lady, had been killed.” Celia took Catelyn’s hands in hers. “He is learning to ride, my lady.”

Her heart soared. “Truly?”

Celia nodded. “He is a smart lad and I know that the North will do well under his lordship.”

“And Robb?”

“He is meeting with the lords,” she said. “I shall take you to him.”

Celia led Catelyn to a large tent and she could hear the men inside speaking of battles and plans. Lord Umber straightened at the sight of her, as did the other men and they bowed to her, murmuring their greetings. 

Robb turned around, a smile on his lips. “Mother.” Her son stepped forward, put paused, seemingly unsure if he should embrace her or not in front of his men.

Catelyn smiled at him regardless. “You look well.”

“Lady Catelyn,” Lord Umber said. “You’re a welcome sight in these troubled times.”

Theon Greyjoy bowed his head. “We had not thought to meet you here, my lady.”

Catelyn gave a curt nod. “I had not thought to be here.” She turned her attention back to Robb. “I would speak with my son alone. I know you will forgive me, my lords.”

Lord Umber motioned to the men with his hands. “You heard her! Move your asses! Come on, out.” He jostled Theon Greyjoy as the men left and he passed the Ironborn. “You too, Greyjoy. Are you bloody deaf?”

Celia laughed from beside Catelyn and offered her arm to the young man. Theon smiled and took it, lipping her hand through the crook of his own. 

“Have no fear, my lady,” Lord Umber said. “We'll shove our swords up Tywin Lannister's bunghole and then it's on to the Red Keep to free Ned.” He sounded so sure, so pleased to be out upon the field again. He then turned to the knight beside Catelyn. “You old devil, Rodrik.”

“Jon,” the knight replied. 

The two men departed and Catleyn rushed to hug her son tightly. Had he always been so tall? Had he been this tall when she left? She felt the same upon seeing Celia, she seemed more woman now than when she had left. 

They parted and Catelyn touched his cheek. “I remember the day you came into this world. Red-faced and squalling.” She smiled sadly. “And now I find you leading a host to war.”

“There was no one else.”

“Robb,” she said gently. 

“No one who was a Stark. Father led the North to fight for justice for my grandfather and Uncle Brandon, for my Aunt Lyanna and so that his head was not given to the Mad King like he wished.” Robb sighed. “If you think you can send me back to Winterfell…”

Catleyn breathed out softly. “Oh, would that I could.” But she knew that was not possible now. 

Robb pulled away from her and went to the other end of the table. “There was a letter, from Sansa.” He picked up a small message and gave it to her.

“From the queen, you mean.” She sat down to read it and frowned. Catelyn looked up to him. “There’s no mention of Arya.”

“No,” Robb said. “But Celia spoke of a cipher she and Sansa created when they were younger. Arya is missing and the betrothal between her and King Joffrey has not been broken.”

Catelyn’s heart broke. She should have fought harder against this before Ned left for King’s Landing. She should have fought for the girls to come with her. “How many men do you have?”

“Eighteen thousand,” Robb replied. “If I go to King’s Landing and bend the knee to Joffrey.”

Catelyn shook her head. “You would never be allowed to leave. No.” She took Robb’s hands in her own. “Our best hope, our only hope, is that you can defeat them in the field.”

“And if I lose?” He sat down, still letting her hold his hands. 

“Do you know what happened to the Targaryen children when the Mad King fell?” she asked him. She could remember Ned never wishing to speak of the sight, yet Catelyn heard of it in whispers. 

“They were butchered in their sleep.”

Catelyn squeezed his hands. “On the orders of Tywin Lannister, and the years have not made him kinder. If you lose, your father dies, your sisters die, we die.”

Robb’s gaze shifted and Catelyn followed it. Celia was speaking with Theon, smiling at something he said. 

Robb squeezed her hands a little more tightly. “Well, that makes it simple then.”

She turned and found his blue eyes looking back at her. Catelyn nodded. “I suppose it does.”

—

Theon shot a raven coming from the Twins. It had been carrying a message. He handed it to Robb and began to read it over as they all watched silently. 

“It’s a birthday message to his grand-niece Walda,” he said in slight annoyance. 

“Or so Walder Frey would have you think,” Theon countered. 

“Keep shooting them down,” Catleyn ordered. “We can’t risk Lord Walder sending word of your movements to the Lannisters.”

“He’s Grandfather’s bannerman,” Robb said. “We can’t expect his support?”

“His good daughter is the sister of Tywin Lannister,” Celia said. “His loyalties cannot be trusted.”

“Expect nothing of Walder Frey,” Lord Umber agreed. “And you’ll never be surprised.”

“Father tots in a dungeon,” Robb said, angry. “How long before they take his head? We need to cross the Trident and we need to do it now.”

“Just March up to his gates and tell him you’re crossing,” Theon suggested. “We’ve got five times his numbers. You can take the Twins if you have to.”

Lord Umber shook his head. “Not in time. Tywin Lannister marches North as we speak.”

“The Freys have held the crossing for six hundred years.” Catelyn told her son. “And for six hundred years they have never failed to exact their toll.”

“Have my horse saddled and ready,” Robb ordered. 

“Enter the Twins alone and he’ll sell you to the Lannisters as he likes,” Lord Umber warned. 

“Or throw you in a dungeon,” Theon added. “Or slit your throat.”

“My father would do whatever it took to secure our crossing,” Robb said. “Whatever it took.”

“The Freys took no part in the rebellion,” Celia told him. “Even Lord Stark said to be wary of the Freys.”

“If I am going to lead this army,” Robb said. “I can’t have other men doing my bargaining for me.”

“I agree,” Catelyn said. “I shall go.” Everyone began to shout in rejection of her offer. “I have known Lord Walder since I was a girl,” she reasoned. “He would never harm me.”

“Unless there was a profit in it,” Lord Karstark muttered. 

—

Catelyn stood before Walder Frey, the rest of his house gathered to watch the interaction. 

“What do you want?” the disgusting man asked. A young girl stood beside him, her head bowed. Celia had offered to accompany her, but Catelyn had refused. The girl need not meet Walder Frey, not with the man’s… vices.

“It is a great pleasure to see you after so many years, my lord,” Catelyn said graciously. 

“Oh, spare me,” the man said sarcastically. “Your boy’s too proud to come before me himself. What am I supposed to do with you?”

“Father,” one of the elder of the Frey brood said. “You forget yourself. Lady Stark is—”

“Who asked you?” Lord Walder said. The girl beside him strained and Catelyn saw that the old man’s hand was behind her. “You’re not Lord Frey yet, not until I die. Do I look dead to you?”

“Father, please—” another one of Lord Walder’s son said. 

“I need lessons in courtesy from you, bastard! Your mother would still be a milkmaid if I hadn't squirted you into your belly.” He gestured to Catelyn. “All right, you come forward.” She did so reluctantly and he kissed her hand. “There. Now that I’ve observed courtesies, perhaps my sons will do me the honor of shutting their mouths.”

“Is there somewhere we can talk?” she said plainly. 

“We’re talking right now,” he said. She kept her expression firm. “Come. Out! All of you!” He tapped the backside of the girl next to him. “Oh, you too.” He turned to Catelyn as they left. “You see that? Fifteen, she is. A little flower, and her honey’s all mine.”

Catelyn lifted her chin. “I’m sure she will give you many sons.”

The old man laughed. “Your father didn’t come to the wedding.”

“He is quite ill, my lord,” she said plainly. 

“Didn’t come to the last one either. Or the one before that. Your family has always pissed on me.”

“My lord—”

“Don’t deny it,” Lord Walder interrupted. “You know it’s true. The fine Lord Tully would never marry any of his children to mine.”

“I am sure there were reasons. As a father surely you must understand—”

“I didn’t need reasons. I needed to get rid of sons and daughters. You see how they pile up? Why are you here?”

Catelyn lifted her chin. He should have stopped marrying then. “I am here to ask you to open your gates, my lord,” she said. “So my son and his bannermen may cross the Trident and be in their way.”

“Why should I let him?”

“lf you could climb your own battlements, you would see that he has twenty thousand men outside your walls.”

“There will be twenty thousand corpses when Tywin Lannister gets here,” Lord Walder said. “Don't try and frighten me, Lady Stark. Your husband's in a cell beneath the Red Keep and your son's got no fur to keep his balls warm.”

“You swore an oath to my father,” Catelyn said. 

Lord Walder sneered. “Oh, yes, l said some words. And l swore oaths to the crown too, if l remember right. Joffrey's king now, which makes your boy and his corpses-to-be nothing but rebels, it seems to me. lf l had the sense the gods gave a fish, l'd hand you both over to the Lannisters.”

“And why don’t you?”

“Stark, Tully, Lannister, Baratheon. Give me one good reason why l should waste a single thought on any of you?”

Catelyn closed her eyes, knowing what he wanted. 

—

“Lord Walder has granted your crossing,” Lady Catelyn said, entering her son’s tent. “His men are yours as well.” Robb looked almost surprised. “Less than four hundred he will keep here to hold the crossing against any who would pursue you.”

“What does he want in return?” Robb asked carefully. 

“You will be taking on his son Olyvar as your personal squire,” she said. “He expects a knighthood in good time.”

Robb waved his hand. “Fine, fine. And?”

“And Arya will marry his son Elmar when both come of age.”

Theon snorted. Robb smiled helplessly as well. “She won’t be happy about that. And?”

She sighed. “And when the fighting is done you will marry one of his daughters. Whichever you prefer. He has a number he thinks will be suitable.”

Robb swallowed. “I see.” He glanced to his side and Catelyn looked at Celia again. 

“He wants to have Winterfell,” Celia said gently. Her gaze flickered towards Robb, but returned to Catelyn. “If he plays this war right he will have Winterfell and Casterly Rock.”

Catelyn closed her eyes. She knew that was what Lord Walder wanted. 

“There must be another way,” Robb said tightly. 

Catelyn bowed her head once before looking at her son. He met her gaze and she glanced to Celia and then back to Robb. “Not one that can be taken lightly. Lord Walder’s new bride is very you.”

Robb looked out at the table laid out before them. Of the map and all the pieces of this blasted game. “Then I consent.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, Catelyn is noticing. 
> 
> I also thought the reference to Aegon and Rhaenys was perfect for this specific scene.


	22. Celia VIII

Celia was granted a small private tent by her brother as they camped. It was close to the healing tent, but rarely guarded by anyone other than Shadow or Grey Wind. Only a fool would face a direwolf and her own was fierce and frightening. Celia knee very well that some of the new Frey soldiers looked at her wolf with fear,

More so than Grey Wind. She was a bastard after all and a bastard could hardly be trusted, she was a girl after all. 

It did not stop men from looking though. It did not stop their wandering gaze, although it stilled their hands. They spoke in whispers on occasion and one of the Northmen of Winterfell had informed her that some of the men wondered if Robb would give her hand to one of them that proved themselves. 

It was a thought that had crossed her mind. She would not lie and say it had not. She knew that Theon had thought so. 

The Ironborn has taken her hand in his and asked if she might be willing to marry him. He would ask Robb and Lady Stark and then ask her lord father properly once they had gotten him back. 

Once upon a time, Celia would have said yes. She would have answered like a song where he would lift her into his arms and kiss her sweetly, deeply, promising love and devotion. However, she couldn’t. She could not answer him positively when her heart… when her traitorous heart longed for another. 

She cared for Theon too much to marry him when she foolishly wanted another. And so, she refused him. His expression was heartbreaking and he asked for one kiss, one true kiss so that his heart might survive until it finds another more willing. And she had given it to him. 

The kiss was long and sweet and painful. Why could she not love him so? Perhaps if this had been before her childhood had crumbled apart... Perhaps if it had been before she felt the touch of a grown man just shy of taking her to bed… Perhaps if she did not know of Robb’s warmth…

She held in her tears until she was alone in her tent, Shadow beside her. The tears flowed freely then as she pressed her face to her direwolf’s neck, pain throbbing in her chest. 

Robb was planning on marrying. He was going to marry and take a girl to his bed and Celia’s body ached. She curled in on herself and muffled her sobs into Shadow’s fur. If she did not find freedom in the arms of another she would not be forced to watch. She would be forced to watch as he fell in love, forced to watch as he had children, forced to watch as his children grew to look like another. 

Celia left her bed quietly and found a weirwood, old and dying from neglect. It was no heart tree but it was of the North and she knew no other gods to pray to. 

“Let these feelings pass,” she begged. “Let them past and set me free. I cannot handle this heartache. Grant me freedom from such passion that proves my bastard blood. Please,” she continued. “Free me from such torment.”

—

“You are not to step near a battle, Celia,” Robb said firmly after he was done speaking with his advisors about the ambush that was to come the following day. “You are to remain with my mother until the battle is over.”

“Robb, I am a healer,” she persisted. “I should be allowed to go where the other healers do to help the men,  _ your _ men.”

“You are to stay with my mother,” he repeated. 

“And do what? I have skills that I can offer. I did not come to stand by and watch when I could help you.”

“Celia, it is too dangerous. When a man battles, they can do horrible things. It is why a woman’s place is not on the field,” Robb reasoned. “You can go after the battle is over and tend to the wounded.”

“Robb, I am a healer and it is my duty to help people who need me. Even Lady Stark would agree with me.”

“I do not trust my men to not take advantage,” he said, setting his hands upon her shoulders to keep her in place, hold her closer to him. 

Celia’s heart throbbed in her chest. “I will be fine,” she said firmly. “I will be aiding those who are injured and I am your sister.” The words were like ash upon her tongue. “Please Robb, I wish to be of use to you.”

“And I simply wish to keep you safe. I cannot go to battle if I am forced to worry about you.”

She cupped his face in her hands. “I will be fine, Robb. I am not helpless and I know that your men will not harm me if they knew that they would be punished for laying a hand on me, just as they would be if they did your lady mother.”

Her heart ached as Robb closed his eyes and pressed his cheek more firmly against her hand, his growing beard scraping against her palm. A thrill went up her spine as she was drawn ever closer to him. She blinked and pulled away, her heart racing. 

“Theon will be on the field as well and he shall look after me when he can.”

“Theon?” Celia was surprised at the way Robb said his friend’s name. She could not understand why it was so strange. There seemed to be anger deeply rooted in its pronouncement and yet it seemed as though it was such a pointless word that it was easy to force out. 

“He often fights at a distance with his bow and he shall be with the archers,” she continued slowly. “I would be hard to miss with Shadow at my side. Surely you see reason.”

“I simply want to keep you safe, Celia,” Robb said, putting his hand on her cheek and tracing his thumb along her skin. It was calloused, more so than ever before.

Celia put her hand over his own and sighed. “Please Robb, I will be fine. I promise.”

Her brother’s eyes darkened but he looked away and pulled from her. “If you ever think you are in over your head or in too much danger, you are to leave the battle immediately.”

Celia nodded. “Of course.”

Robb took a deep breath and sighed. “Fine.”

—

The battle was dying down and Celia was exhausted. Her hands and apron were covered in blood. She had never felt so tired.

Her body was cold, as though it had sunk into her bones and joints and when she exhaled, her breath became smoke and wafted to the sky until it was no more. She let her head fall back as the cold continued to sink into her skin. 

“Lady Snow.”

She opened her eyes, unaware that she had even closed them. Celia recognized the white sun and saw that the older man was of House Karstark. “Lord Cregan?”

The man bowed, his hand over his heart. “Correct, Lady Snow.” He offered her his hand and she took it so that she might more easily stand. Shadow growled slightly, her ears were flat and unwelcoming, but Celia could not figure out why. Most likely because he was a stranger. “Lady Stark asked that you be brought to her once the battle was won.”

“And have we?” she asked. “Won, that is.”

“Aye, my lady,” he assured her. “Did you not know?”

Celia looked over at the field of the dead, the crying men who were being taken off the field. “All I have seen today is death and dying, my lord,” she said. “I see no victory in this.”

He had her hand on his arm as he led her to where Lady Stark was. “Without death there can be no victory in war, my lady. I am sure that Lord Stark must have taught you such things.”

“Lord Stark protected his daughters my lord,” she said with a slight smile. “My brother, Jon Snow, and Lord Robb are better suited for such talk.”

“I fear you will have to get used to such things, my lady,” Lord Cregan said. “For war is a dangerous thing, especially for a woman when a man’s blood is high.”

“I am the daughter of Lord Stark, my lord,” she said. “Even if I am a bastard one, they respect him enough to not harm me.”

“Not all men respect him, my lady. These are not just Northmen now and the Lannisters hold no regard for your father either.”

Celia saw Lady Stark and an extra horse waiting for her. “Thank you Lord Cragen,” she said, letting go of his arm and walking towards her father’s wife. “However I am determined to help my people as they fight to free my father and my sisters.” Wherever Arya might be. 

He bowed his head to her as she mounted the horse next to Lady Stark as they rode out to meet with Robb. She prayed that he would be well. She did not think she would be able to handle seeing him hurt.

—

Celia felt as though her body was finally warm again when she saw Robb was well. They had truly won. She breathed a sigh of relief at the sight of him. 

They met with his men and watched as a bound Jaime Lannister. He was pushed to the ground before them. 

“By the time they knew what was happening, it had already happened,” Robb said, scrolling around them, matching Shadow and Grey Wind, as though his blood was still high as Lord Cregan said. 

“Lady Stark,” Jaime Lannister said, a slight sneer in his voice. “I’d offer you my sword, but I seem to have lost it.”

Lady Stark trembled in anger beside Celia. “It is not your sword I want. Give me my daughters back. Give me my husband.”

“I’ve lost them too, I’m afraid,” he said with a roll of his eyes. 

“Kill him, Robb,” Theon said. “Send his head to his father. He cut down ten of our men. You saw him.”

“If we have Lord Lannister’s favored son then perhaps we might get our family back,” Celia reasoned. 

“My sister is right,” Robb said. “He’s more used to us alive than dead.”

“Take him and put him in irons,” Lady Stark ordered. 

“We could end this war right now, boy,” Jaime Lannister said. “Save thousands of lives.” Celia bit her lip at the sound of that, the blood drying at her apron. “You fight for the Starks, I fight for the Lannisters. Swords or lances, teeth, nails—choose your weapons and let's end this here and now.”

“If we do it your way, Kingslayer, you’d win,” Robb said plainly. “We’re not doing it your way.”

Lord Umber and a few other men took Jaime Lannister and headed towards their camp. 

“I sent two thousand men men to their graves today.”

Celia put his hand on his arm and Robb set his hand over hers and squeezed it. 

“The bards will sing songs of their sacrifice,” Theon assured them. 

“Aye,” Robb said, squeezing Celia’s hand a little harder. “But the dead won't hear them.” He let Celia go and turned to his men. “One victory does not make us conquerors. Did we free my father? Did we rescue my sisters from the queen? Did we free the North from those who want us on our knees? This war is far from over.”

Celia’s heart broke. How long would it take until they could return home?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We’re going to get an interlude so we can get ALL the angst next chapter


	23. Interlude I

Robb rolled the scroll closed and looked out amongst the map of Westeros. He looked at the pieces representing his men and the Lannisters. He looked at the circle that indicated King’s Landing and trembled, his heart ached and pounded in his ears as though the rest of the world had gone silent, as though he was the only one in the tent, although he knew that wasn’t the case. 

“Inform my mother and sister,” he told the messenger, giving him back the scroll. “But do so with as much respect as any who receive such news.”

“What has happened, my lord,” Lord Karstark asked. 

“Two days ago…” Robb tried to keep his voice steady and firm. He tried to keep it low so that it would not betray his youth or his aching body. “Two days ago, my father was executed by order of Joffrey Baratheon after confessing to treason.” He could not handle being strong for a moment and let himself balance against the table staring at the map rather than the lords. He felt sick. He felt like this was a nightmare he would never be allowed to wake from. 

The lords murmured their condolences, but it was as though Robb’s head were underwater. It made no difference anyway. His father was gone. His father was gone and he would never see him again. His father was gone and he would never come back to him. He was now responsible for House Stark and the North. He was now responsible for getting his sisters back, for protecting all of them, for looking after his mother. But he was just a boy. Just a boy pretending to be a man. 

He felt sick. 

“Inform your men of what has come to pass,” he said. “I ask that I be given a moment alone to pray to the gods in private.” A lie, but one they would respect. He had to be strong, had to be strong amongst these men who had seen death more keenly than he had. 

Robb left the tent, moving his feet on instinct rather than purposeful steps as he made his way to the forest and a clearing he and Celia had let their wolves dance amongst the summer trees. 

He could not breathe. He could not breath and he could not speak. It was like that quiet before battle, where everything about him was spinning and he felt no relief until he had begun to fight, as though the swinging of his sword somehow made it easier to breathe, as though his lungs filled with air at every crash of his sword. 

He unsheathes his blade. And began to cut it across the defenseless tree as tears began to burn his eyes. 

His father was dead. 

His father was dead. 

His father was dead. 

He was just a boy and his father was dead. 

He was just a man who could not show weakness around those greater than him and his father was dead. 

His father was dead. 

—

Catelyn searched for her son after she received the news and kept her chin up as she walked amongst the bannermen. They bowed their heads respectfully as she passed, murmuring their greetings as she did. She heard their words, but did not look, did not allow herself a moment to stop, to breathe. 

It was as though the world around her had fallen to ruin, as though the sun had suddenly decided it no longer wished to shine anymore. It was as though all the warmth of the world had left her. As though she were as cold as a winter’s night where the moon had also dared not shine. 

She could barely recall her mourning after Brandon had died. Such sadness had long ago been eclipsed by the joy and love that she had with Ned. But she laughed at the grief she held then for it was not comparable to what she felt now. 

Ned was gone. Her husband, the father of her children, her very heart was gone from this world.

She could still feel his lips upon hers, his fingers combing through her hair, his beard scratching across her cheek. She could still feel him as she could still feel air. 

But he was gone. 

She collapsed against one of the trees in the small forest outside the camp and began to sob. 

Ned. Her Ned. Her sweet Ned. Her good Ned. Never had she thought that he would leave her like this. They were to grow old together, to spoil their grandchildren together. To walk the halls of Winterfell together until they could walk no more. They were to never live a second without one another for surely she had died with him already. Surely she was a ghost who had yet to pass for how could she live in a world without Ned? How could the gods allow it?

She heard grunts and shouts and a clash of metal against wood. She looked up and saw that it was her son, her Robb, dressed in his armor as he slashed violently against the tree, tears streaming down his face. 

“Robb,” she said, rushing to him. He did not listen as he continued to fight his tears and an enemy who was not standing before him. “Robb!” She had no words, no words yet as she forced herself to process her grief so that she might care for him. “You’ve ruined your sword.”

Robb gasped for breath as his assault slowed until he dropped his sword and stumbled to her. Catelyn opened her arms and wrapped them around him. She stroked his hair and neck, trying desperately to console him. This was not a man who had fought and won battles. This was her precious first, her first boy who had come to the world screaming. Her boy who would come to her and Ned’s bed whenever he had a nightmare. Her boy would come to her to kiss away his scraped knees and elbows. Her boy who had grown tall enough to kiss the top of her head. Her boy. Her precious boy. 

“I’ll kill them all,” he sobbed, clutching to her as though she were his only strength. “Every one of them. I’ll kill them all.”

Catelyn kissed his red curls and felt his hot tears drip upon her neck as she spotted him. “They have Sansa,” she said gently. “We have to get the girls back. Then…” her voice cracked ever so slightly. “Then we will kill them all.”

—

Celia allowed her mind to go blank. She had to keep moving. She had to keep moving. Keep moving. Keep moving. 

She had to. She had to. 

“Lady Snow,” one of the men, her grief not letting her recognize the voice of face. It was as though she were adrift, lost within the woods and her father had sent out men to find her. She knew everyone within the walls of Winterfell and yet she had not been able to recognize a single voice as it bounced about the forest, never ceasing. 

“Lady Snow, you should rest,” another voice came. Weaker, perhaps one of the wounded still recovering. 

“I’m fine,” she pulled herself from the hand of whoever it was that touched her. She pulled herself away from the feeling that was far too much. “I’m fine.”

“Lady Snow, there are others who can do this.”

“No, I must work.”

“Lady Snow,” a bloodied hand touched her arm and she pulled away madly. “You must rest, you cannot work like this.”

“I must,” she said, the world was already spinning and she felt herself slipping, felt her father’s laughter slipping from her mind. 

What was her father’s smile like? What did her father’s hand feel like upon the top of her head? What did his kiss upon her cheek feel like? She was losing him. He was lost. He was gone. 

“I must work or else I…” The tears came then. “I must work, ser,” she begged. “Do not make me stop.”

“My lady, please,” the healer said. “You are no good to anyone like this.”

Celia could not breathe and she covered her mouth so that no more air might escape from her. Her knees grew weak as she fell, spinning. The only thing keeping her from collapsing were the hands of the older man that guided her to the floor as a silent scream ripped from her throat, tears flooding her eyes. She could not see and she could not speak. She could not… she could not…

“Turn away, lads,” someone said. “Turn away and let the lady mourn in peace.”

Celia buried her face in her hands and let herself bend over until she was pressed against her knees as she silently screamed. Her chest heaving as she tried to breathe. 

“Someone call for Lord Robb,” someone else said. 

“No,” she moaned. “Do not call him. Do not call him.”

She was unsure if her words were heard or not, but her head grew light as she continued to sob. 

Her father was gone.

Her father was gone.

—

“The proper course is clear,” Lord Bracken said as the Northmen gathered about the fire, the darkness kept at bay by its warmth and the light of the full moon. “We must pledge fealty to King Renly and move south to join our forces with his own.”

“Renly is not the king,” Robb said plainly. Not by any law but conquest or usurpation. 

“You cannot mean to hold to Joffrey, my lord,” Lord Bracken continued. “He put your father to death.”

“That doesn’t make Renly king,” Robb said firmly. “He’s Robert’s youngest. If Bran can’t be Lord of Winterfell before me, Renly can’t be king before Stannis.”

“Do you mean to declare us for Stannis?” Lord Bracken demanded. 

“Renly is not right!” Lord Glover shouted. “If we put ourselves behind Stannis—” 

Everyone began to speak over one another, shouting and raising their voices higher and higher until it was as though they were howling to the moon. 

“My lords,” Lord Umber began, but no one would listen. “My lords!” At this the Northmen began to quiet. Lord Umber stood, proud and tall against the darkness. “Here is what I say to these two kings,” he spat upon the ground. “Renly Baratheon is nothing to me, nor Stannis neither. Why should they rule over me and mine from some flowery dead in the South?” He waved his hands in protest and the men shouted and murmured in agreement. “What do they know of the Wall or the Wolfswood? Even their gods are wrong! Why shouldn’t we rule ourselves again! It was the dragons we bowed to and now the dragons are dead!” He pointed to Robb. “There sits the only king I mean to bend my knee to. The King in the North!” Lord Umber drew his sword and stuck it in the ground to kneel and Robb rose in shock. 

“I’ll have peace in those terms,” Lord Karstark agreed, unsheathing his own sword. “They can keep their red castle and their iron chair too.” He got on his knee. “The King in the North!”

“Am I your brother?” Theon Greyjoy asked. “Now and always?”

“Now and always,” Robb agreed. 

Theon Greyjoy drew his own sword and knelt. “My sword is yours in victory and defeat from this day until my last day.”

“The King in the North!” Lord Umber shouted. 

The men stood and their swords were raised. “The King in the North! The King in the North! The King in the North! The King in the North!”

Robb turned to his mother and sister and saw their eyes full of worry and hope as the men continued to chant. It felt hollow. It felt so very hollow. 

“The King in the North! The King in the North! The King in the North! The King in the North!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All the angst. All of it.


	24. Robb VIII

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like most of you guys skipped last chapter because you knew what was coming lol

Robb followed behind one of his men who held a torch firmly in his hand. The nights had grown colder, his breath fogging the air about him like smoke. It felt like ages since he had become king, ages since he had taken the responsibility over the entire North. It weighed on him like waking sleep and was never far from his mind. He needed to stay vigilant. He needed to be perfect. He needed to do everything right. He needed to not let his men down, his mother down, his sisters down, his brothers down. 

He had to be a man now. 

Robb returned his focus to the task at hand. 

Jaime Lannister was being held in a cage, tied to a wooden pole in the middle, a good distance from the four walls of the cage. 

“King in the North,” he said, his voice laced with sarcasm. The man was no longer the golden knight he had been when Robb first saw him at Winterfell. No, this man was dirty, filthy, and dark. His golden hair was muddy and unwashed and a beard had begun to grow, showing the passage of time. He had once requested a proper bath, but they had let him only go to the lake with Shadow and Grey Wind watching him carefully. “I keep expecting you to leave me in one castle or another for safekeeping, but you drag me along from camp to camp. Have you grown fond of me, Stark? Is that it? I've never seen you with a girl besides your sister.”

Robb’s lips formed a thin line. He did not even want Celia anywhere near the Kingslayer’s thoughts. Especially due to what the previous king he served almost did. “If I left you with one of my bannermen, your father would know within a fortnight, and my bannerman would receive a Raven with a message,  _ release my son and you’ll be rich beyond your dreams. Refuse and your house will be destroyed, root and stem. _ ”

“You don’t trust the loyalty of the men following you to battle?” He spoke as though he knew the answer, but Robb gave it to him anyways. 

“I trust them with my life, just not with yours.”

The Kingslayer nodded in mock approval. “Smart boy.” Robb scowled at that. “What’s wrong? Don’t like being called  _ boy _ ? Insulted?”

Robb said nothing for a moment as the sound of heavy footsteps came from behind him. The Kingslayer strained nervously to look around him, but Robb didn’t move. “You insult yourself, Kingslayer,” he said. “You’ve been defeated by a boy.”

Grey Wind came from behind Robb and stood beside him. He was getting bigger now, much bigger. 

“You’re held captive by a boy. Perhaps you’ll be killed by a boy. Stannis Baratheon sent ravens to all the high lords of Westeros. King Joffrey Baratheon is neither a true king nor a true Baratheon.” Jaime Lannister turned his gaze to Robb rather than focusing on Grey Wind. “He’s your bastard.”

“If that’s true,” the Kingslayer said. “Stannis is the rightful king. How convenient for him

“My father learned the truth. That’s why you had him executed.”

“I was your prisoner when Ned Stark lost his head,” Jaime Lannister said through gritted teeth.

“Your son killed him so the world wouldn’t learn who fathered him. I wonder what that says about his care for you? He’s lucky that I actually care about my sisters, just as I care for my brothers.” Something flashed in the Kingslayer’s eyes. Guilt, regret, anger? Robb did not know. “You pushed my brother from a window because he saw you with the queen.”

“You have proof?” he asked. “Or do you want to trade gossip like a couple of fishwives?”

“I’m sending one of your cousins down to King’s Landing with my peace terms.”

“You think my father’s going to negotiate with you?” the Kingslayer snorted. “You don’t know him very well.”

“No, but he’s starting to know me.”

“Three victories don't make you a conqueror.”

“It’s better than three defeats served to him by a boy young enough to be his grandson.”

Grey Wind prowls towards Jaime Lannister and Robb turns. The direwolf began to growl but stopped abruptly and turned to follow Robb out and back into the camp. 

—

Celia had been avoiding him, preferring to spend her time in the healer’s tents. She had been working hard and then men liked her, protective of her. He supposed that she just naturally brought out such feelings from people and Robb was glad then that he apparently wasn’t the only person to feel it. It made him feel… it didn’t make him feel all that guilty. 

“She’s overworking herself, your grace,” one of the head healers said. “She’s refusing to sleep. She claims that she is, but I think she’s merely checking on the men who have been discharged. She needs to sleep, your grace. She will not listen to us, but perhaps she will listen to you.”

Robb nodded. “Tell her that I need to speak with her. I shall put her to bed myself.”

The healer nodded. “Thank you, your grace.”

Robb waited for a moment and Celia was brought to him. 

She looked dead on her feet. She had dark circles under her eyes and her skin was pallid. She swayed slightly when she stood before him, her eyes downcast. Robb set his thumb and forefinger beneath her chin and lifted it so that he might look properly into her eyes. She had been crying, that was obvious. 

“You need to sleep, Celia,” he said gently. 

She shook her head as Robb set his hand upon her cheek and she closed her eyes. She might fall asleep like that. “I have work to do, Robb.”

“Please, Celia sleep.”

“Robb—”

“If you will not listen to your brother then listen to your king. Sleep.”

She sighed and leaned against him, her body heavy from exhaustion. Robb shifted slightly and picked her up in his arms. He carried her to her private tent and set her down upon her bed. He covered her quickly and began to leave when she caught his wrist with her hand. 

“Could you stay for a while?” she asked. “Just for a moment.”

“Of course.” He pulled up a seat and sat next to her bed and watched as Celia quickly drifted off. He smiled sadly. She truly was exhausted. 

She looked so Northern, her coloring anyway. He had never noticed how different her features were in comparison to Sansa and Arya’s. His younger two sisters had longer faces like their father, her Celia did not. She must have gotten them from her mother. 

Her mother must have been beautiful, he supposed, as she was. For she had been able to lead their father away from his vows. 

Robb wondered if the woman knew where her children were; he wondered if she knew that Robb’s father was dead. He wondered if she cared.

—

“You’re Ser Alton Lannister?” Robb asked from the main table with the map laid out. 

“I am, your grace,” the man said. 

“I offer your cousins peace if they meet my terms. First, your family must release my sisters.” He prayed that either Arya was with them and Sansa had merely not seen her, or else Arya had escaped and was on her way to them. “Second, my father’s bones must be returned to us so that he may rest beside his brother, sister, and father in the crypts beneath Winterfell. And the remains of those who died in his service must also be returned so their families can honor them with a proper funeral.”

“An honorable request, your gAce,” the knight said, bowing his head. 

“And third,” he took a deep breath before he continued. “Joffrey and the queen regent must renounce all claim to dominion of the North. From this time, till the end of time, we are a free and independent kingdom.”

The Southron knight stared at him, wide-eyed. 

“The King in the North!” Ser Rodrik shouted, echoed by the other men at his table. 

“Neither Joffrey nor any of his men shall set foot in our lands again,” Robb said firmly. “If he disregards this command, he shall suffer the same fate as my father, only I don't need a servant to do my beheading for me.”

“These are…” Ser Alton appeared lost for words. “Your grace, these are—”

“These are my terms,” Robb interrupted. “ if the queen regent and her son meet them, I'll give them peace. If not, I will litter the south with Lannister dead.”

“King Joffrey is a Baratheon, your grace,” Ser Alton said calmly. 

“Is he?” Robb asked. “I must have forgotten the Baratheon colors during our three victories. I was unaware that they were red and gold and their sigil was that of a lion. Forgive my ignorance.” The men around him snickered. “You’ll ride at daybreak, Ser Alton. That will be all for tonight.”

He dismissed everyone and was surprised when Theon approached him. “A word, your grace.”

“You don’t have to call me  _ your grace  _ when no one’s around. Celia doesn’t.”

Theon smirked. “It’s not so bad once you get used to it.”

Robb chuckled. “I’m glad someone’s gotten used to it.”

“The Lannisters are going to reject your terms, you know.”

“Of course they are.”

“We can fight them in the fields as long as you like, but we won't beat them until you take King's Landing. And we can't take King's Landing without ships. My father has ships and men who know how to sail them.”

“Men who fought with my father and lost. Men who did not bother to fight in the first rebellion.”

“The Ironborn fought King Robert to free themselves from the yoke of the south,” Theon persisted. “Just like you’re doing now. I’m his only loving son. He’ll listen to me. I know he will.” He bowed his head. “I am not a Stark, nor will we be bound as I had hoped, but your father raised me to be an honorable man.” He put his hand on Robb’s shoulder. “We can avenge him together.”

—

“You don’t want Balon Greyjoy for an ally,” his mother said sternly as they spoke in her tent. He had thought of bringing Celia into the conversation as well, but she needed rest, more so than anyone. 

“I need his ships,” Robb reasoned. “They say he has two hundred.”

“They say a million rats live in the sewers of King’s Landing. Shall we rally them to fight for us?”nHis mother moved about the room, gathering items as though they were going to break camp soon, even though that wasn’t the case. 

“I understand you don’t trust Lord Greyjoy,” Robb began. 

“I don't trust Lord Greyjoy because he is not trustworthy,” she turned to him. “Your father had to go to war to end his rebellion.”

“I know,” Robb said. “And now I’m the one rebelling against the throne. Before me, it was Father. You married one rebel and mothered another.”

“I mothered more than just rebels, a fact you seem to have forgotten.”

Robb’s heart aches. “If I trade the Kingslayer for Sansa, since we don’t think they have Arya, my bannermen will string me up by my feet. You know that they will not abide giving away our prisoner when having him did nothing to dissuade the Lannisters from executing Father.”

“We cannot leave them there!”

“I am not asking you to, I am fighting to get them back and I pray the Lannisters prove me wrong and let Sansa go, Arya as well if they have her.” Robb took his mother’s hand. “If Theon is able to get the Ironborn to join our fight we will have the manpower to take King’s Landing by sea or even find a way to smuggle them out of the Red Keep. I’m doing everything I can.”

Robb’s mother sighed and sat down upon one of her seats. “It’s time for me to go home,” she whispered. “I haven’t seen Bran or Rickon in months.”

Robb’s heart ached. “You can’t go to Winterfell.”

She looked up at him, her eyes wide. “I beg your pardon?”

Robb took a deep breath. “I’ll send Rodrik to watch over the boy, because tomorrow, you’ll ride south to the Stormlands.”

“Why in the name of all the gods—”

“Because I need you to negotiate with Renly Baratheon. He’s rallied an army of one hundred thousand. You know him. You know his family.”

“I haven’t seen Renly Baratheon since he was a boy,” she said standing. You have hundreds of other lords—”

“Which of these lords do I trust more than you?” He went to her and stood before her bare of any pretense he was made to show the other lords. “If Renly sides with us, we'll outnumber them two to one. When they feel the jaws beginning to shut, they'll sue for peace. We'll get the girls back. Then we'll all go home for good. Surely you can see that?”

His mother closed her eyes as she contemplated all that he had said before nodding. “I will ride at first light.”

Robb kisses his mother’s brow and held her to him. “We will all be together again soon. I promise.”

He let her go and she touched her hand to his cheek. “You’ve done so well. Your father…” her voice stuttered and Robb closed his eyes. “Your father would be proud.”

Robb looked down at his feet. He wished that he could have heard it from him. He wished his father was still there. 


	25. Catelyn VIII

Celia was wasting away. The girl always had the more tanned skin of the Northmen, but now she looked pale and almost gaunt in her appearance, her clothes nearly hanging from her body as she went about her duties. 

When Catelyn had spoken to her of resting, Celia had shaken her head and had said that she must work, she had to work. It reminded Catelyn, almost, of how she had been when her father had gone to battle in the Rebellion. It reminded her of how she felt when Ned had gone to fight against the Greyjoys. But this was a different type of grief that was so all consuming that Catelyn did not know how to help without drowning herself. 

When Catelyn readied her horse to leave for the camp of Renly Baratheon, her son came to her to see her off. It appeared that he did not care to withhold his affection to her now and embraced her, burying his face in her neck as she stroked his curls. 

“I shall see you soon,” he said. “Once we make allies with Renly Baratheon and the Greyjoys, we will get our family back together and avenge my father’s death.”

Catelyn pulled away and touched his face. He was almost a man grown now. He had the long face of his father and even though her son had her coloring, he looked more and more like his father every day, the shape of his eyes, his mouth and chin. Sometimes in the low light of the evening, she would see his features darkened and see Ned. Her sweet Ned. 

How she wished that he was there to see the man their son had become. 

She rubbed her thumb along his cheek, wishing that she could go back to the days where he was at her hip and it was he that had to look up. She wished she could go back to the days where she could pick him up and sprinkle his cheek with kisses. 

“Be safe,” she said instead. “Listen to those upon your council and look after Celia.”

He nodded gravely. “If you feel that the work is becoming too much for her or that it is too dangerous for a girl like her to be here, send her back to Winterfell.”

“Mother—“

“A girl like that was not meant to suffer or see suffering,” Catelyn continued. “She is too much like your father and wishes to see the good in people. It shall only make it easier for her to get hurt.”

“I’ll look after her, Mother, I promise.”

Catelyn smiled. “I know you will. But send her back if you feel that this will be too dangerous to her.”

Robb nodded and pressed a kiss to her brow. “I will see you soon.”

Catelyn smiled. “Take care.”

—

Catelyn walked through the Baratheon and Tyrell camp. These men were all fresh faced and untouched by war, so different from the Northmen and the Riverlords who had already earned their honor in steel and blood. 

No, these boys were all green. While some might remember the Greyjoy Rebellion, most of these men were just boys playing in their father’s armor. They did not know war. If they did, they would not be making a festival of it. 

“Your grace,” Ser Coleman said, bowing before Renly Baratheon, who sat on a pedestal-like structure next to his wife, Margaery Tyrell.”I have the honor to bring you to Lady Catelyn Stark, sent as an envoy by her son Robb, Lord of Winterfell.”

Catelyn lifted her chin, angered by the missed title. “Lord of Winterfell,” she said. “ _And_ King in the North.”

“Lady Catelyn,” Renly said, a smile upon his lips, now forced at the sound of Robb’s proper title. He truly looked like a young Robert, although he was more thin than Robert had ever been, no doubt due to the late king taking a shining to actually practicing with a sword in hand. “I’m pleased to see you. May I present my wife, Margaery of House Tyrell?”

The girl smiled gracefully. “You are very welcome here, Lady Stark.” She put her hand over her heart almost too slowly as though to draw attention to it. “I am so sorry for your loss.”

“You are most kind,” Catelyn said, returning her attention to the young king. 

“My lady, I swear to you I will see the Lannisters answer for your husband's murder.” He turned his attention to his men, easing his voice as though an actor upon the stage. “When I take King's Landing, I'll bring you Joffrey's head.”

The crowd began to cheer and Catelyn took a deep breath. These were boys playing war. They did not know the cost of it. They did not know the heartbreak of it. “It will be enough to know that justice was done, my lord.”

“Your grace,” a woman in golden armor stepped forward. House Tarth, Catelyn would guess based on the sigil. Ah, the woman who had been granted to Renly’s guard as Catelyn was arriving. “And you should kneel when you approach the king.”

“I am not his subject,” Catelyn said, returning her attention to Renly. “I am the mother of the King in the North, whom was disrespected already by the dropping of his proper titles. A king who shows no respect, and allows his people to disrespect, a named king does not have the right to be annoyed when others do the same.”

Catelyn supposed the woman near her was going to respond when Renly held up his hand. “There’s no need for that, Brienne. Lady Stark is an honored guest.”

“Has your son marched against Tywin Lannister yet?” a knight, Loras Tyrell, asked. 

“I do not sit in my son’s ear councils,” Catelyn said firmly. “And if I did, I would not share his strategies with you who do not treat his name with any respect.”

“If Robb Stark wants to make a pact with us,” Ser Loras continued. “He should come himself, not hide behind his mother’s skirts.”

Catelyn turned to him. “My son is fighting a war. He is not playing games and making a show like a peacock. What battles have you won, Ser Loras? For if you want to compare yourself to my son, I will gladly do it.”

Renly chuckled and stood, leaving his dias and coming over to Catelyn. “Don’t worry, my lady,” he said. “Our war is just beginning.”

—

Catelyn walked beside Renly as the lady knight walked behind them. They came upon a man with a horse and an injured foot. 

“Your grace,” the man said, bowing his head respectfully. 

“Gerard,” Renly said amicably. “How’s your foot?”

“Better, your grace,” the man replied. He pat the horse tenderly. “They don’t know their own size is all.”

“Good man.”

They continued on their way and he continued to greet every one of them by name. Ah, he was making a show of it. Showing her how well he knew his men and how much they all cared for him. 

Theatrics. 

“I have a hundred thousand men at my command,” Renly said. “All the might of the Stormlands and the Reach.”

“And all of them young and bold like your Knight of Flowers?” Catelyn asked. “It’s a game to you, isn’t it? I pity them.”

He looked at her in confusion. “Why?”

“Because it won’t last,” she said. “I have known many young soldiers in my day, King Renly. And I have seen more veteran soldiers never return home just as often as I have seen the bodies of boys pretending to be men. Your men are the knights of summer and winter is coming. War is no laughing matter. The Lannisters most likely killed your brother as they did my husband and yet I hear you ask not justice for him. If you fight for only a crown and a throne, your grace, then you will not know what to do with them if you gain them.”

Renly’s smile froze upon his lips. “Brokenness,” he said abruptly. “Escort Lady Catelyn to her tent. she’s tired from her journey

The lady bowed. “At once, your grace. Shall I return after?”

“That won’t be necessary,” he said. “I would pray awhile. Alone.”

Catelyn continued forward as Renly parted from them. 

“If you’ll follow me, my lady,” the armored woman said. The sight of her made Catelyn smile. Arya would be overjoyed to meet a lady knight and Sansa would find the position to be highly romantic, perhaps wishing to have a song written. 

“You fought bravely today, Lady Brienne.”

“I fought for my king,” the younger woman said firmly. “Soon I'll fight for him on the battlefield. Die for him if I must. And, if it please you, Brienne's enough. I'm no lady.”

So like Arya, and yet she could sense a soul so very much like Sansa. It made Catelyn smile as she followed behind the lady knight. 

—

Catelyn sat in her tent and turned when she heard someone enter it. She stood upon the sight of the man she winced thought of like a brother. “How dare you.”

He held out his arms to show that he was free of any weapon. But it did not give her any ease. “You may have heard false reports.”

“You betrayed Ned,” she said, approaching him, much as Grey Wind or Shadow might approach their prey. 

“Betrayed?” Petyr said, offended. “I wanted him to seven as Protector of the Realm,” his tone was earnest but it felt like a lie. Catelyn had mothered enough children to sense a lie. “I begged him to seize the moment.”

“I trusted you,” she said, her voice trembling as she continued forward. “My husband trusted you, and you repaid our faith with treachery

“No, my lady—“

“Get out!” she shouted. She turned from him, her anger boiling over like hot water from the springs of Winterfell. 

“Cat, I’ve…” He paused and knew he had drawn closer to her, but her anger was so immense. If he touched her she would not keep the Wolf she had grown to become caged. “I’ve loved you since I was a boy. It seems to me that fate has given us this chance.”

He touched her arm and Catelyn pulled a knife out and held it towards him. His face paled and he stepped back. “Have you lost your mind?” she demanded. “Get out!”

He stepped back and looked away as though to think. Petyr then returned his gaze to her, more certain than he had been moments before. “Do you want to see your girls again? Sansa; more beautiful than ever? And Arya, just as wild as ever?”

Her heart trembled. “You have Arya?”

“Both girls are healthy and safe,” he said earnestly. “For now. But you know the queen and you know Joffrey. I fear for their longevity if they remain in the capital.”

Catelyn thought for a moment. Her girls. Her precious girls. Perhaps they were being kept separate and that was why Sansa had not seen her. Or perhaps Arya was being kept elsewhere, perhaps by Petyr who seemed to be crossing the lines so easily. She lowered her knife and turned away to place it back on the table. “What do you want?”

Petyr stepped towards her again. “The Lannisters will trade your daughters for the Kingslayer.”

Catelyn wished to laugh at such an obvious statement. “Of course they will,” she said, turning to him. “Jaime Lannister for two girls? Robb will never agree to those terms.”

“I’m not bringing these terms to him,” Petyr said plainly. “I’m bringing them to you.”

“You think I keep secrets from my son?” she demanded. 

“Robb has surprised them all with his skills in battle, but he's not a mother. Consider it, Cat. You may not get another chance.” He stepped back. “I've brought you a gift.”

“I don’t want your gifts,” Catelyn said bitterly, turning away from him. 

“A token of Tyrion Lannister’s goodwill,” Petyr continued as though she had not even spoken. “He wants you to understand that this exchange of prisoners is offered in good faith.”

“Good faith?” Catelyn turned and saw the two Silent Sisters and the trunk they had put onto the ground at Catelyn’s feet. She looked down and her heart began to pound in her chest. “What’s this?” 

When he did not answer and the Silent Sisters were gone, Catelyn stepped forward and knelt before the chest. She opened it and found bones. But not just that. She found the armor and a shirt. By the gods, a shirt that she had made for him, seven grey wolves and two white. Their family. His family to always be with him even if he was away.

“Your husband was an honorable man. He should rest beside his family in the crypts beneath Winterfell.” He stepped forward. “You may not believe—“

“Get out,” Catelyn whispered. 

She heard him leave and she touched the shirt and picked it up, pressing it to her face and let out a wailing sob. 

She could deny it no longer. 

Ned was gone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve written some of these scenes a few different times before in the Celiaverse and they hit differently every time.
> 
> It’s also chapters like this that I’m glad I added Catelyn’s POV


	26. Celia IX

“Lady Snow.”

Celia turned and dipped her head slightly in greeting. “Lord Cregan,” she said. She straightened and looked up at him. “Is there anything you need of me?”

“Your brother wished for you to check the prisoners,” the older man said. “To make sure that there is no issue that needs to be taken care of. We don’t want them dying of something preventable, not when they are still useful.”

Celia nodded and the lord offered his arm. Once more, Shadow growled, but Celia took it still. “It appears my world does not like you,” she said. 

“Perhaps she knows my intentions,” the lord replied as they began to walk towards the cage that kept the prisoners. 

“Your intentions?” Celia asked, looking up at the man in confusion. “Forgive me, my lord, but I do not understand.”

Lord Cregan paused and turned, taking both of Celia’s hands in his own. “My lady, I have watched you from afar, seen your kindness and your gentle heart and have found myself in love with it.”

Celia’s eyes widened and her mouth hung open. She pulled her hands away quickly from his and stepped back. “My lord—“

“Please,” he demanded. “Let me continue.” In her shock, she said nothing and he moved on. “You are a kind and beautiful woman who deserves to be known as more than just Eddard Stark’s bastard. You deserve to be worshipped.” He tucked some hair behind Celia’s ear and Shadow continued to growl. Celia, however, was so shocked that she couldn’t move. “You might not be able to have the Stark name, but I could give you the Karstark one.”

Celia’s lashes fluttered as she attempted to collect herself. She stepped away again. “Forgive me, my lord. I… I shall do as my brother bids, and I do not think he would approve of such a match.”

“Your brother has already promised himself and your youngest sister to Southron houses. Surely he shall find a Northern match for you.”

“Perhaps so,” Celia said, her heart trembling in her chest. “However, I believe my brother cares enough about my happiness that he would betroth me to one closer to my own age.”

He had been reaching for her again, but his hand closed into a fist at her words. “I see.”

Celia curtsied. “Forgive me, my lord but I speak only what is in my heart and mind. I can make it to the prisoners on my own. I… I am certain you have much better things to do.”

She practically fled, but attempted to have as much dignity as she possibly could. 

A proposal.

Her heart thundered in her chest. Surely Robb would not agree to such a thing. The Karstark were already loyal and there was no point in such a match, especially to a bastard. 

Robb would not agree to it. Surely he would not agree to it. He wouldn’t. He…

Celia shook her head and continued towards the prisoners, attempting to put all thought behind her as Shadow padded along behind her. 

—

With Shadow by her side, the wolf’s lips curled, the Kingslayer dared not to touch her as she looked over his hands, wrapping them to guard the already chafed wrists from further damage. 

“You must be Eddard Stark’s bastard,” he said in interest. His voice was slightly strained as Shadow had her muzzle on his shoulder, ready to bite down if she needed to. 

“Yes, Ser,” she replied. The skin was raw from where the cuffs had been. “That would be who I am.”

“Interesting, I do not think I saw you in Winterfell, though I did see your brother.”

“My father did not deem it appropriate that I ruin the royal family’s appetite with my presence. I have no use for swords so it is not as though I would be in the training yard as Jon would be.”

The man grunted. He was quite ragged in appearance now, although his handsome features were still noticeable beneath the mud and the grime. 

“You look very much like your father,” he said. “As does your brother. I wonder if your mother left any trace of herself in you.”

“I would not know,” Celia replied. “I have never met her.”

“So, the honorable Lord Stark kept his secrets.”

Celia looked at him darkly and Shadow growled against the man’s neck. “My father loved his wife and did not wish to disgrace her with the mention of my mother.” She began to wrap his wrists after cleaning them. “My father was a good man and he did not deserve to have done what your bastard did.”

She could feel the man’s gaze upon her. “You would think that watching Princess Elia’s heartbreak over Prince Rhaegar choosing your aunt, your father would not have allowed his cock to lead him.”

Celia pulled on the wrap firmly and he winced as she glared at him.

He tilted his head, examining her as she put the shackles back on. “Interesting.”

“What?”

“You look very much like your aunt, from what little I can remember of her appearance.”

Celia stood. “I do not think you have a right to speak of Princess Elia’s heartbreak,” Celia said, ignoring his statement. Many had said she had the coloring of her aunt like her father, but her features were different, no doubt the only things she had gained from the mother she never knew. “Not after what your family did to her and her children.” The Kingslayer looked at her darkly. “I pity you. You killed a mad king and laid root the seed for another. What legacy will you leave behind, Ser? While the world might never remember me, at least I shall not be remembered so poorly.”

Shadow removed herself from the man and followed Celia out of the cage, the mental clanging behind her as the door closed. 

—

Celia went to Robb once the fighting was over and she had finished with most of her main duties. Since she was their king’s sister it was her duty to look after his health and make sure that he was not injured. 

Robb was speaking to Lord Bolton when she arrived. She curtsied to both of them and Robb offered her his arm as she continued to walk beside them. 

“Five Lannisters dead for every one of ours,” Lord Bolton said, a slight smile to his lips, which was an odd sight indeed. “They’re dead. We should take everything that they have. M” he grimaced then. However, we’ve nowhere to keep all these prisoners. Barely enough food to feed our own.”

“We are not executing prisoners, Lord Bolton,” Robb said firmly. Celia squeezed his arm gently. 

“Of course, your grace,” the man said with a slight bow. “The officers will be useful. Some of them may be privy to Tywin Lannister’s plans.”

“I do not think so, my lord,” Celia said. “If they knew such things they would have won, unless Lord Lannister is not as much of a strategist as we all assume he is.”

“Perhaps,” the man said. “We’ll learn soon enough. In my family, we have a saying.  _ A naked man has few secrets, a flayed man none. _ ”

“My father outlawed flaying in the North,” Robb said firmly. 

“We are not in the North.”

“But we are of the North,” Celia said. She was going to continue, but Robb squeezed her arm. 

“We’re not torturing them.”

Lord Bolton bowed his head. “The high road’s very pretty,” he said. “But you will have a hard time marching your army down it.”

“The Lannisters hold prisoners of their own. I won’t give them an excuse to abuse my sisters.”

Lord Bolton bowed his head and left them. Celia watched as he left before turning to look at Robb. “Are you hurt anywhere?” she asked gently. 

He shook his head. “I’m fine. Go tend to the other wounded. There’s no need to worry about me.”

Celia smiled as he kissed the back of her hand and she left him to tend to the men around them. 

She continued to work and help their men and make sure they could get off the battlefield. 

She glanced to the side to see where Robb was after some time had passed and saw him talking to a woman, a girl not much older than they were. She was dressed like a healer, but that was all that Celia could tell. That and Celia did not recognize her. 

They appeared to be talking almost heatedly, but there was no fire behind it. Celia approached them to see what was being said as the woman climbed onto the cart. They continued to speak and Celia was about to call to her brother when she saw a strange look in his eye that made Celia’s stomach churn uncomfortably. 

—

“Lyanna!” 

Celia turned and stepped out of the way as a horse thundered past her. A girl who had her face was rushed by on a tall, black horse with a fair haired man riding behind her. 

“Lyanna!”

Celia shot up from her bed at the sound of a pained whimper. She turned towards Shadow and saw a figure dressed in black approach her, his sword drawn, blood dripping from the steel.

Celia scrambled from her bed and fell out through the side of the tent, shouting in shock. 

Someone grabbed her and a hand went over her mouth as she was dragged up and towards a dark horse. She struggled against the man as he passed her to the rider. 

As soon as the man’s hand was off her mouth, she screamed. She screamed so loudly that she could feel the word being ripped from her throat.

_ “ROBB!” _

The horse took off and Celia struggled against the man and he ordered her to be quiet stuffing her mouth with a rag.

_ “CELIA!” _


	27. Robb IX

He awoke to the sound of Grey Wind howling and a scream echoing across the wind. 

Robb drew his sword and rushed out of his tent as his men began to stir. It was not so dark that it was impossible to see, but a mass of darkness thundered past towards the edge of camp. 

_ “ROBB!” _

His heart pounded in his chest as his feet began to drive him forward.  _ “CELIA!” _

He raced forward to his worse as Grey Wind began to chase after the steed that carried Celia away. 

“Intruders!” Some began to call as Robb mounted his horse and began to chase after them. There seemed to only be two riders but Robb’s mind was not focused on that. 

He could not hear her screams anymore and dread began to take him, complete and utter dread and emptiness like he had never known before. Robb tightened his hold on his reins. 

Suddenly, he was closer to the ground. The smell of bloodied earth and horses permeated his nose as he rushed forward. 

_ Mate. Mate. Mate.  _

_ Must protect mate.  _

_ Must get mate back.  _

_ Must never let mate get hurt.  _

_ Must protect her. Must protect her bow that  _ she  _ could not.  _

He saw Celia, struggling against the man holding her to the horse. Tears glistened as they slid down her cheeks. He could smell her fear. He could smell the salt of her tears. He could smell the blood from where she had nicked herself on the stranger’s blade.

Robb’s lips curled as he snarled. His paws pounded against the ground as he rushed forward and lunged. His teeth sank into the man’s neck and his jaw clamped down around it as the horse neighed helplessly and fell to its side. 

“Celia!”

Robb felt jolted back into his body as he numbed off his horse and rushed to the fallen Celia. She was dressed only in her shift and he, in truth, was not dressed any better. He attempted to touch her but she cried out and he realized she was gagged. 

“Shhh, Celia,” he hushed. “It’s me. Shhh.”

He helped get the gag from her mouth and wrapped his arms around her as she began to cry, her voice raw and trembling as her hot breath fanned at his skin, licking at the fabric of his shirt until it melded to him. 

Celia’s arms were around his waist as the sound of horses approached. 

“Follow Grey Wind,” he ordered. “Bring the other man to me and find anyone else who was a part of this plot.”

“Yes, your grade,” came the murmurs as the men followed after Robb’s Wolf. 

Robb kissed Celia’s brow and carefully picked her up. He needed to get her to camp. Needed to get her somewhere safe, somewhere warm.  _ The den.  _ He needed to keep her safe. 

Something deep rumbled in his chest as he began to carry Celia back. Her arms were around his neck, her lips against his neck as though feeling his pulse. 

“I won’t let anyone hurt you,” he whispered softly. “I’ll protect you, I promise.”

He could feel the heat of her tears slide against his neck and he kissed the top of her head. He wouldn’t let anyone touch her again. 

—

Robb took her to his own tent. He ordered for her bed to be brought and that he would take it. He did not wish for his sister to be in such danger ever again. 

“Don’t leave,” she begged. “Don’t leave.”

“I’ll be right outside,” he promised. “I have guards standing around the tent so that no one will disturb you. I’m just making certain that your things are brought to my tent before we move.”

“They killed her,” Celia whispered. “They killed her. Is this what Sansa felt? Is this emptiness what it feels like? I can’t,” she sobbed. “I can’t…”

Although he was confused on who she was speaking of for a moment, his heart began to break even more as he realized what had happened. 

“Rest,” he whispered softly, pressing his lips to her temple. “Please. I shall be back soon.” Robb pulled the furs around her and slowly left his tent to glare and the soldiers protecting his. “Well?”

“We have caught two men and we are interrogating them now.” One of the soldiers bowed his head. 

Robb nodded. “And Celia’s wolf? Shadow?”

“We’re sorry, your grace,” said another. “She had already bled out by the time we returned. To see if there was any evidence.”

“Shall I interrogate them, your grace?” Lord Bolton asked.

For a moment, Robb thought of telling the lord to do it, to flay the men who dared touch his sister, dare touch and kill the wolf given to her by the gods. “No,” Robb said at last. “I need your men to be with and around Jaime Lannister as others question them. We need to know who they are and what they wanted with my sister.” He ran his fingers through his hair. “Send Shadow’s remains to Winterfell to be buried, send your youngest soldiers so that we don’t lose the experience. I will not let a gift from the old gods to be used carelessly.”

They bowed their heads. “At once, your grace.”

Robb watched as some of them left and his guards approached the tent carefully, no doubt worried about earning their king’s wrath. He turned on them and went back into his tent where Celia was sobbing helplessly into his pillow. 

Carefully, Robb crawled into the small bed next to her and wrapped his arms around her as she continued to cry, the sound deep and guttural. It was heart wrenching. Robb kissed the top of her head and buried his nose in her dark hair, praying to all the gods that he could protect her, that he could keep her safe. What sort of king was he if he could not keep even the sister he had with him safe?

—

“Lannisters?” Robb repeated. 

“Yes, your grace,” Lord Cregan said. “After much interrogation, they claimed to be on orders of the Lannisters. They had plenty of gold on them as well which seems to only further their claims and gave the name of Hill to us as well.”

Robb rubbed his beard, anger bubbling in his stomach. Celia had been inconsolable and refused to leave the tent, flinching away whenever a man came near her that wasn’t Robb. 

“What in the seven hells did they want with my sister?” he asked. “Did you ask them that? They have Sansa and Arya already, why would they need Celia?”

“They claimed not to know the reason, only that they were ordered to take her to Lannisport.”

“A port city?” Robb questioned. “Why not to King’s Landing if that was where the king and his mother and Lord Tywin are?”

“It is all they seemed to know, your grace.”

“Why didn’t they try to go for the Kingslayer?” He shook his head. “Continue interrogating them. I don’t believe they are from the Lannisters like they claim. I doubt that Tywin would spend the money on a group of men like this and not even attempt to free his son. Continue the interrogation and take them to Jaime Lannister’s cell and see if he recognizes them.”

“Would he even tell us, your grace?” Lord Cregan asked. 

“Have Lord Bolton watch the interaction. He’s rather good at telling if a person is lying or not.”

“At once, your grace,” they bowed and left, save for Lord Cregan. 

“Your grace, my uncle and the other heads of houses wish to discuss our next plan of action,” he said. 

Robb breathed through his nose and sighed. “Of course. Help with the interrogation, I shall head to the map tent.”

The Karstark bowed his head and the two went their separate ways. 

“Your grace?”

Robb turned and saw the healer woman who had been following their camp for a while now. “Lady Talisa,” he said with a bow of his head. “How may I help you?”

“I heard what happened to your sister, your grace,” she said. “Perhaps it would be best if someone were to look after her in your absence. I’m certain she is probably nervous around men.”

“Are you volunteering your services, my lady?” he asked. 

Talisa bowed her head. “If you will allow me, your grace. I heard you say she was injured as well. Perhaps I might, at least, be allowed to tend to that wound?”

Robb nodded. “I will allow it. However, if she asks you to leave, then do so.”

“Of course, your grace,” she said with a small smile. She glanced back at him as she left, her dark eyes almost golden in the sun. 

He watched as she left. She was a beautiful woman and his heart beat a little faster for her and yet… Robb shook his head and made his way to the tent with the map, determined to defeat the Lannisters and keep the remainder of his family safe. 

—

Robb watched as Celia slept, her eyes red and her skin blotchy from crying. 

She deserved more than this. If only he had convinced her to stay North, to not allow her skin to be tarnished by blood and her heart to be darkened by death. She burrowed more securely against his chest as she tried to find a dream that was worth living out. 

He should have done more to protect her. But having her by his side like this… he could not help but relish in the warmth of her against him. 

“I’ll protect you,” he said to the wind. “I promise.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about Shadow. 
> 
> And.... more angst is to come really quickly because the first sex scene is SOON.


	28. Catelyn IX

Lady Brienne stood guard as Catelyn sat across from Renly Baratheon, his desk between them. 

“You swear it?” he asked. 

“By the Mother,” she assured him. “My son has no interest in the Iron Throne.”

The young king took a long sip of his wine as though to tru contemplate the matters laid out before him. “Then I see no reason for hostility between us. You son can go on calling himself King in the North,” he said. “The Starks will have dominion over all lands north of Moat Caitlin, provided he swears me an oath of fealty.”

“Friendship,” Catelyn corrected. “You’re to become the King of Six Kingdoms.”

He smirked at her and took another sip of wine. “Of course.”

“And the wording of this oath?”

“Similar to that of Ned Stark and Robert.” He smiled almost sadly at the mention of his late brother. “Their friendship held the kingdoms together.”

Catelyn smiled sadly. “And in return for my son’s friendship?”

“In the morning, I’ll destroy my brother’s army.” He stood from his seat. “When that is done, Baratheon and Stark will fight their common enemy together, as they have done many times before.” He walked across the tent, standing before a floor length mirror, and Lady Brienne removed his cloak. 

“Our two houses have always been close,” Catelyn said firmly. “Which is why I am begging you to reconsider this battle. Negotiate peace with your brother.”

Renly scoffed. “Negotiate with Stannis? You heard him out there?” He gestures towards the outside of the tent as Lady Brienne began to remove his armor. “I’d have better luck debating the wind.” He turned to look at Catelyn. “Bring my terms to your son. I believe we are natural allies. I hope he feels the same.” He smiled at her. “Together, we could end this war in a fortnight.”

The wind began to howl suddenly and the flaps of the tent waved frantically and Catelyn turned to see a great shadow rushing along the floor. She watched in horror as the shadow took the shape of a man behind Renly and Lady Brienne gasped. The sound of steel being thrust through a body resounded across the air. 

“No!” Lady Brienne cried, the shadow disappearing at the sound of her voice. “No!”

Renly collapsed and the younger lady lunged for him, carefully lowering him to the ground. Two soldiers rushed in at the sound and took in the situation and read it all wrong. 

“No, wait!” Catelyn begged as they began to attack the young woman. “It wasn’t her!”

However, they did not listen and the two soldiers soon fell at the hands of Lady Brienne’s sword. The young woman staggered slightly as she fell as she fell to her knees and began to sob over Renly Baratheon’s lifeless body. 

Catelyn looked to the entrance and then went to her quickly. “We’ve got to leave,” she said, kneeling down. “They’ll hang you.”

“I won’t leave him,” Lady Brienne said through gritted teeth. 

“You can’t avenge him if you’re dead,” Catelyn replied firmly.

She helped the young woman up and tried to pull her along as shouts began to echo outside. However, Lady Brienne pulled away from her. “Not that way.”

She exited through a tapestry and Catelyn followed quickly behind her. 

—

The two were by a small stream, allowing their horses to drink as they prepared a small fire to warm themselves as they allowed the beasts to rest. 

“It looked like Stannis,” Lady Brienne said as she tied her horse to the tree. 

“To me it just looked like…” she paused and turned to look at the young woman. “A shadow in the shape of a man.”

“In the shape of Stannis,” the lady said firmly. 

Catelyn was unsure. It was just a shadow, and yet it had not been only that. She turned and went to her horse to fetch her water skin. “We should reach my son’s camp tomorrow.”

“Will you stay there long, my lady?” Brienne asked. 

“Only enough yo tell Robb what I have seen. After that, I will leave for Winterfell.” It would be so different with Ned gone, but she needed to go home. “My two youngest need me. I’ve been away from them for too long.”

“I never knew my mother,” Brienne said quietly. 

“I’m sorry,” Catelyn replied gently. “My own mother died on the birthing bed when I was very young.” She sat upon a log by the fire and the young woman followed. 

“It’s a bloody business.”

Catelyn chuckled. “What comes after us even harder.”

Brienne paused. “Once you’re safely back amongst your own people, will you give me leave to go, my lady?”

“You mean to kill Stannis?” Catelyn asked. 

“I swore a vow.”

“But Stannis has a great army around him,” Catelyn reasoned. “His own guards are sworn to keep him safe.”

“I’m as good as any of them,” the lady said stubbornly. “I should have never fled.”

Catelyn sighed. “Renly’s death was no fault of yours. You served him bravely.”

“I only held him that once,” Brienne said. “As he was dying.”

Catelyn stood and faced Brienne properly. “He’s gone, Brienne. You serve nothing and no one by following him into the earth. Renly’s enemies are Robb’s enemies as well.”

Brienne thought for a moment. “I do not know your son, my lady. But I could serve you, if you would have me. You have courage. Not battle courage, perhaps, but, I don't know, a woman's kind of courage. And I think that when the time comes, you will not hold me back. Promise me that you will not hold me back from Stannis.”

Catelyn took a steady breath. “When the time comes, I will not hold you back.” 

Brienne drew her sword and laid it at Catelyn’s feet. “Then I am yours, my lady. I will shield your back and give my life for yours, if it comes to that. I swear it by the Old Gods and the new.”

Tears were in Catelyn’s eyes as she knelt down and took Brienne’s hand in her own. “I vow that you shall always have a place in my home and at my table and that I shall ask no service of you that might bring you dishonor. I swear it by the Old Gods and the new.”

—

She could spot her son from a mile away, his red hair shone like amber against the fullness of the war camp. He was speaking to a woman that Catelyn did not recognize. She said something and Robb smiled, as though some burden had been lifted temporarily from his shoulders. 

It was then that he noticed her. 

“Robb.” Her son’s name tumbled from her lips and Robb came to her and pulled her into a tight hug, as he would when he was a young boy trying so desperately to be a little man to please his father. 

“Mother.”

He pulled away and smiled at her sadly, dark circles hung below his eyes and Catelyn touched his cheek. He looked so weary, too weary for a boy so young. 

“Mother,” he said, motioning to the young woman next to him. She could not be more than a year older or younger than Robb. “This is Lady Talisa. She’s been helping with the wounded and with… Celia.”

“Celia?” Catelyn asked, alarmed. “What has happened to Celia?”

Robb’s expression turned grim. “Men claiming to be employed by Lannisters attempted to abduct her in the middle of the night.” He bowed his head. “She is basically unhurt, but shadow was mortally wounded and Celia has been fragile since. Lady Talisa has been looking after her since she… I would prefer if it were not a man treating her.”

Catelyn’s heart broke for the poor girl. She turned to the woman standing next to her son. “Thank you Lady Talisa…”

“Maegyr, my lady,” she said with a slight curtsy. 

“Maegyr?” Catelyn repeated. “Forgive Ned I do not know this name.”

“An uncommon name here,” the young woman smiled gently. An old name in Volantis.” She bowed her head. “Excuse me, my lady, your grace. I wish to check on Lady Snow again.”

She left and Robb glanced at her as she went. Catelyn knew that look and took Robb’s arm with her own and they began to walk. 

“I’ve missed you,” he said gently. 

“It is good that you have found company to occupy your time with then.”

Robb sighed, although a blush came to his cheeks. “It’s nothing like that, Mother. I am merely grateful for Lady Talisa helping Celia.”

Catelyn squeezed her son’s hand. “I wish that you were free to follow your heart.”

“I do not think I can even trust it,” he admitted. 

Catelyn sighed. “I wish your father and I had put more thought into all of your futures,” she admitted. “Then perhaps none of this would have happened and you would be free to marry someone you love, but you are promised to another.”

“I know.”

“Your grace,” Lord Bolton approached them quickly. “My lady. News from Winterfell.”

—

“This cannot be true,” Robb whispered. 

They had brought the discussion to Robb’s tent. Catelyn was mildly surprised that Celia was there. She was wrapped in furs and her eyes were rimmed with red, her tanned skin was flushed and she looked almost dead. They had sent Lady Talisa away and Celia made her way to stand by Catelyn. 

“We’ve had ravens from White Harbor, Barrowton and the Dreadfort,” Lord Bolton said firmly. “I’m afraid it’s true.”

“Why?” Celia asked, her voice soft and quiet. “Why would Theon—“

“Because the Greyjoys are treasonous whores,” Lord Bolton said caustically without letting Celia finish. 

“My brothers?” Robb demanded, his fist tightening around the scroll. 

“We’ve heard nothing of them,” Lord Bolton replied. “But Rodrik Cassel is dead.”

“I told you,” Catelyn said firmly. “I told you you should not let him go.”

“I must go North at once,” Robb said quickly. 

“There’s still a war to win, your grace,” Lord Bolton warned. 

“How can I call myself king if I can't hold my own castle?” Robb demanded. “How can I ask men to follow me if I can't—“

“You are a king,” Lord Bolton replied. “And that means you don’t have to do everything yourself.”

“Let me go talk to Theon,” Celia said, reaching out to touch Robb’s arm. 

He put his hand over hers and he seemed to squeeze it. “No, you are not in any position to travel. Besides, there will be no talk. He will die for this.”

Tears seemed to catch upon Celia’s lashes and Catelyn wondered if, perhaps, the girl had loved Theon afterall. 

“Theon holds the castle with a skeleton crew,” Lord Bolton said. “Let me send word to my bastard at the Dreadfort. He can raise a few hundred men and retake Winterfell before the new moon. We have the Lannisters on the run. If you march all the way back north now, you'll lose what you gained. My boy would be honored to bring you Theon's head.”

Robb thought on it for a moment and Catelyn sucked in a breath as she saw the dark look in her son’s gaze. “Tell your son Bran and Rickon's safety is paramount. And Theon, I want him brought to me alive. I want to look him in the eye and ask him why. And then I'll take his head myself.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Talisa is someone who is removed from the conflict and the politics, which is why Robb, to a degree, is attracted to her. It’s a distraction of sorts, but that doesn’t mean the attraction isn’t real. 
> 
> And some of you guys are figuring it out. However, the first sex scene is next chapter!


	29. Celia X

Celia felt lost. 

Theon had taken Winterfell as his own. 

She wanted to deny it, she wanted someone to tell her that it was a lie. 

Theon had taken Winterfell and Ser Rodrik was dead. Her younger brothers were unaccounted for and they did not even know if they were still in Winterfell. 

She had tried to reason with Robb, begged him to allow her the chance to go speak with Theon, write to him at the very least so that he might see reason. 

But Robb had refused it again and again. 

“He sought my hand once,” she said, clinging to her brother’s arm so he might not pull away from her. “Perhaps if you offer him a chance he will make things right.”

“I will not reward his behavior with your hand,” Robb answered flatly. 

“I am a bastard and he is the heir to Baelon Greyjoy. The North and the Iron Islands might not see it as a reward, yet it might get him to stop this. Please, Robb, this might be a way to let Bran and Rickon be safe. There must always be a Stark in Winterfell. Please. We must protect them.”

“We have had no word of them,” Robb said firmly. “For all we know they could have already been smuggled away by one of the servants.”

“But we don’t know,” Celia reasoned. “We can’t know! Please, let me go so I can—“

“I will not lose you!” he shouted, turning and grasping her by the arms and holding her tightly. “Sansa is in the hands of the Lannisters and Arya is gods know where. Bran and Rickon are missing. I will not lose you, I will not be able to live with myself if I cannot protect you.”

“Theon would not hurt me,” Celia whispered softly. 

“You do not know Theon like I do,” he replied gently, his eyes growing soft. He touched her cheek and pressed his forehead to hers. “He… he might have cared for you, wanted you, but Theon wasn’t a good man. He… he would have taken you even if you weren’t his wife. He would have made you a salt wife if he could have.”

“If it meant Bran and Rickon would be safe, I don’t care what happened to me,” she said, pulling away. “I would let him treat me any way he wished if it meant I could keep them safe. I don’t care!”

“I would care. Celia, you cannot go to him. You have to stay with me, by my side. Please.”

“Robb—”

“Please.”

She sighed and rested her head against his shoulder. “Robb, I can do this, please let me do this.”

“I can’t lose you. When Shadow died—“ Celia took a sharp breath. “When Shadow died, I felt it. It was as though a part of me was missing and I know it must be worse for you, but I cannot bear to have you leave me. I need you here. I can’t do this, any of this, without you.”

Celia closed her eyes and rubbed her cheek along his collarbone. “Okay.”

She couldn’t leave him. She couldn’t, not now, not when it felt as though he was the only reason that she was breathing. Even if… even if it wasn’t the same for him, she didn’t want to leave his side. 

—

Celia glanced up at Lord Bolton as he approached Robb after the meeting. The man bowed his head towards her in recognition and opened his mouth to speak when Lady Talisa entered the tent. Her apron was blood-stained and Celia could only guess that she was helping the wounded who had not been treated, meaning men who served House Lannister. 

“Your grace,” she said, dipping her head slightly. “A minute of your time.”

Celia glanced at Lord Bolton who grimaced. He bowed his head to Robb and then to Celia. “Your grace,” he said. “My lady.”

He left the tent and Lady Talisa watched as he left. Celia stood next to Robb as the woman stepped forward. “I’ve been treating your wounded men.”

“If you were treating our men,” Celia said plainly. “You would be in the healing tents.”

“Not all the wounded can be carried there,” she replied. 

“Many are not because they bear lions upon their chests. While your impartiality is noble, Lady Talisa, this is a war, these are not civilians. The Lannisters are not yet so desperate that they need to get the smallfolk to help them.”

“They deserve to be helped just as much as those who fight for your brother, my lady.”

Celia’s jaw tensed. “Perhaps. I fear I cannot be so impartial. Lions have haunted me for a while now, you see. I fear them every time I close my eyes.”

Robb turned his face to her and his fingers brushed along the small of her back, his warmth burning against her skin like flames licking at her through her dress. He then turned to look at Lady Talisa. “What is it you need, my lady?”

“I have already run through my personal supplies that I brought with me,” she said, turning her attention to Robb. “I have made use of my own herbs when helping your enemies, in that you cannot fault me. Some of them are easily replaced. Egg yolks, turpentine, oil of roses.”

“But some are not?” Robb guessed. 

She smiled at him and Celia instantly lowered her gaze, avoiding whatever look that her brother gave the foreign woman. “I need silk for stitching.”

Celia opened her mouth to say that she didn’t need silk since it was so expensive at that, and a clean spool of thread and clean wrappings would be just fine when Robb left her side and walked to Lady Talisa and stood before her. Celia suddenly felt cold, as though all the warmth in the room had left her, following where Robb went. 

“I need fennel root for those with fever, willow bark. Mostly I need milk of poppy. You saw what it was like to amputate a foot without any. I assume there will be more loss of limbs before the war is over.”

“If you need any help finding these—“

“I know where to find them,” Talisa said and then laughed. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t interrupt you.”

Robb bowed his head slightly. “Continue, my lady.”

She smiled at him. “You’re riding to the Crag to negotiate a surrender?”

“We are,” Celia said softly. 

“The crag will have a maester and he will have what I need and perhaps he might share it with your other healers, what do you think, Lady Snow?”

Celia’s lips formed a thin line.

Lady Talisa turned her attention back to Robb. “If I could write a list—“

“Come with us to the Crag,” Robb said suddenly. 

Celia looked at her brother in alarm and was about to drag him from the tent. He could not be serious. Something deep in her chest rumbled. A growl longed to scratch itself from her throat. 

“Robb,” she began. 

“You and Celia can do so together.” There was a slight strain in his voice, as though there was a deeper reason for this, but Celia could not figure out why. She watched as Robb left, leaving her and Lady Talisa awkwardly alone. 

—

Celia dreamed of Shadow, her dark figure running along the river heading North. Heading home. 

However, Celia awoke and she was in her small tent, heading to the Crag. And Shadow was still dead. 

Celia slipped from her bed and wrapped a shawl around her shoulders. She needed fresher air and stepped out of her tent, surprised to see Rob seemingly waiting for her. 

“Robb?”

He looked at her, shocked that she was awake. “I…”

“What are you doing here?”

“I couldn’t sleep,” he said softly. “My dreams, they… well, I would rather set myself aside from them.”

He shifted uncomfortably and Celia glanced down. “Would you… would you like to take a walk?”

“Please,” he replied. 

Celia hesitantly set her hand on his arm and she slowly wrapped herself around him until she felt whole and closed her eyes and let him guide them anoint, their breaths mingling as the cold air began to grow warmer with every night that seemed to pass. 

She pressed her cheek to his shoulder and closed her eyes, the smell of the North clinging to her senses as they walked around the camp unaccompanied. 

—

Celia had barely finished unpacking her things when Robb stumbled into the room she had been given in the Crag. 

“Robb?” She asked, surprised. He was pale and there was a thin layer of sweat shining from his skin. “Robb, what is it?” She saw a scroll scrunched in his hands and Celia took it from him carefully, loosening his fingers as he pressed his face against her neck, hot tears sliding against her skin like fire. 

_Forgive me, your grace, the traitor Greyjoy burned your brothers and hung them from the walls of_

The letter dropped from her hands as Celia clung to Robb’s shoulders. 

“They’re dead,” he whispered, his arms wrapped around her waist as it felt as though he were trying to get as close to her as possible, melt into her as the heat of the south surrounded them. “They’re dead and it’s my fault.”

“Shhh,” Celia whispered tears threatening to fall as his body began to shake. Celia put a hand to Robb’s cheek and held his face in her hands so that he would look at her. “Shh…” She carefully wiped the tears from his face as her own began to fall. “It’s not your fault. It’s not your fault.” 

“I should have let you speak with him,” he moaned softly, pulling her closer to him and standing at his full height so that she had to lean more into him. “I should have at least tried it. But I couldn’t….” he put a hand to her cheek. “I couldn’t lose you.”

“It’s not your fault,” she whispered. “It’s not.”

It was magnetic. 

She brought his forehead to hers and tried her best to comfort him, whispering sweet nothings, sweet comfort against his skin. Celia pressed her lips to the corner of his mouth , shushing she knew how fic comfort him as her own resolve and heart were crumbling. She kissed the other corner as Robb shuddered against her. 

He turned his head slightly, a growl emanating from his throat, and his lips met hers. 

Celia froze for only a moment until his lips pressed against hers in earnest, heat seeping into her body and causing her to go dizzy. Something inside her snapped and her arms slid across his shoulders and around his neck, pulling him closer until he plied her lips open with his tongue. 

It was pure instinct, animalistic, the way their bodies moved against one another, the way their bodies molded together as Robb plundered her mouth, seeking absolution from her lips. Celia grasped at the back of his shirt, trying to find purchase as his own hands were at her skirt, bunching them around her hips so that he could lift her. Her legs wrapped around his hips as he began to walk them back further into the room, the heat becoming unbearable. 

She could feel him hard between her legs, she could feel the heat of him there and whined when he laid her against her bed and she felt the heat leave her. 

Robb looked at her, his eyes dark and hungry like Grey Wind’s. She knew what he wanted. She knew what he needed. Knew what he desired. 

She was powerless to deny him anything. 

She was powerful enough to give him everything. 

Celia pulled her dress over her head and lifted her shift and he was on her once more, his lips against her neck as his fingers went between her legs. Her head fell back against the mattress as his fingers glided against her folds and he bit against the column of her neck. 

“Mine,” he growled. “This is mine.”

Celia’s hands frantically went to the strings of his trousers and unlaced them, not quite sure what she was doing, letting the heat pulsing through her guide her hand as she wrapped her hand around his length. 

His fingers were inside her, thrusting into her as he began to rut into her fist. 

She mewled against him as he continued to growl, lost in her just as much as she was getting lost in him. His fingers began to curl and Celia let out a silent howl of relief as it swept through her like summer heat. 

Robb’s fingers left her and suddenly she was being pried open by his hard length, her hands pinned to the side of her head as he slowly pushed into her. 

Celia opened her mouth wide as Robb’s teeth scraped along her collarbone and a sharp pain shot through her body. But then he was fully inside her, pressed so deep into her that she didn’t know where she ended and he began. 

And then he began to move. 

She was alive, she was completely and utterly alive, she hadn’t felt like this since before Shadow had been killed. 

It was hard and fast and unrelenting a force that Celia could barely meet as she snapped her hips up to meet his. She needed this, she needed him inside her, needed to feel something, the heat surrounding her and swallowing her whole. 

“That’s it,” he growled as Celia wrapped her legs around his hips. “That’s it. Come on. Come on. Mate. My mate.”

Celia threaded her fingers into his hair and fisted at him, taking his mouth with hers as they began to fight for dominance as her legs began to quiver like jelly. 

She felt like a wolf, a true wolf for once in her life. 

“Robb!” She cried out as he spilled inside her, falling into herself as he did so. 

At the sound of her voice, whatever spell that had been upon them was broken and her brother pulled out of her suddenly, stumbling away from her bed, looking thoroughly debauched, thoroughly mortified. 

“Robb,” she whimpered, feeling empty again safe for his spend between her legs. She needed him, she needed to feel alive again. She reached for him, helpless as he cringed from her touch. 

“I have to go,” he whispered. 

_Mate,_ her mind whispered. _Mine._

Celia stood from her bed, her legs trembling as she stumbled to him, grasping onto his shirt. “Robb, please,” she begged. She needed him, she… it didn’t have to be like that, but she needed him, wanted him in any way she was allowed to. “Please.”

He pulled away from her abruptly and Celia fell to her knees. Robb moved towards her and then froze, stepping away from her with great difficulty. “We are not Targaryens. We are not _Lannisters,”_ he spat. “It… this means nothing. It’s… we… it was a moment of weakness that never should have been acted upon.”

Celia began to cry, she didn’t know for what reason she did as there were many. “Robb please,” she sobbed. 

“This will never happen again,” he growled, a thrill going down her spine as he looked at her with utter loathing as he fled her room, leaving Celia alone to hold herself as she cried, Grey Wind howling in agony into the night air. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don’t... don’t hate Robb too much. He thinks he just had sex with his sister and you’ll find out more from his POV next week, but yeah...  
> Sorry...


	30. Robb X

Robb wanted to go back. He wanted to stumble back into Celia’s room and grab onto her shift and beg her for forgiveness, beg that she forgive his words. His ears rattled at the sound of Grey Wind’s howl. It was the very way his heart felt, his teeth grinding down as he fought against every instinct that came upon him. 

He wanted to go back, he wanted to sink into her sweet oblivion and hold her to him so that they might be home at last. 

Home. 

That is what it had felt like. Even the walls of Winterfell had not felt so peaceful. 

He wanted to go back to her, hold her in his arms and simply stay there. 

_ Mate. Mate. My mate.  _

The words were running through his head like a galloping horse. 

He shook his head and realized he had turned around to stand outside her door again. 

He could hear her crying, hear the way her body folded in on itself as she sobbed at his cruelties. Robb set his hand on the door, wanting to go in. Wanting to touch her and hold her and whisper that he didn’t mean it. Whisper that it had meant everything to him. That, for the first time in so long, he felt alive. He felt as though he could breathe again. 

Robb knelt before the door, gritting his teeth, knowing he couldn’t go in, couldn’t comfort her. 

He would disgrace her again if he did. He would take her as his own, claim her lips and body again, sink into her warmth and never wish to leave it. 

But he couldn’t. 

She was his  _ sister.  _ Their father had told him to look after her ever since they were children. It was his job to protect her. He shouldn’t take advantage of their emotional distress to claim her maidenhead. He was no better than Robert Baratheon. He was no better than Rhaegar Targaryen. 

No, he could not ruin her anymore than he already had. No, he had to protect her. And to do so he had to create a distance between them. He could not… he could not…

Grey Wind began to howl again and Robb shuddered against his instincts. He pressed his forehead against the hard wooden door and prayed that the gods give him strength. He begged them for it. 

—

“It can never happen again,” he told her softly.

Her eyes were red and she was pale. She looked like the heart tree of Winterfell, tears having long since run their tracks down her cheeks, giving her a haunted look that twisted Robb’s heart. 

“It can’t.”

She said nothing, her hands fisting at the fabric of her dress. “I know,” she responded just as gently. 

“I will not,” he said, trying to find the words. “I cannot be alone with you ever again. I will not… we can’t allow ourselves to fall into such weaknesses. We are not the Lannisters or the Targaryens. We are Starks. It isn’t our way.”

Celia looked up at him, her eyes shone from tears begging to be shed and Robb wished to kiss them away should they fall. He wanted to hold her bow, wrap his arms around her legs, clutching at her skirts as he begged for her to forgive him, for her to take him back. 

“If Winterfell had not fallen, I would have sent you home. I would have sent you back where you might be safe.” He wanted to touch her, feel the heat of her skin against his own. He wanted to press his nose against her neck and feel her pulse, feel the way her body reacted to his. 

“Robb,” she whispered softly and he looked up, realizing how close he had gotten to her, the ways his hands were gently wrapped around her wrists. She was flushed and Robb felt his cock twitch in his trousers and his heart thundering in his chest. “Robb, please.”

“We can’t,” he replied. No matter how much he wished it. No matter how much he longed to hold her to him as he reluctantly let her go. 

“Please don’t send me away,” she pleaded, holding onto the fabric of his shirt. “Don’t force me from your side. I don’t need anything else, please just let me stay here, with you. I… you don’t have to come back to me like that, just… just don’t send me away, don’t tell me that I cannot stand with you. Please, Robb. The pack survives. I cannot… I cannot survive without you.”

Robb’s heart ached as he stepped closer to her and pressed a kiss to the column of her neck, too afraid of what would happen if his lips were anywhere near her own. His heart thundered in his chest as he backed away. 

His sister was crying again in earnest. “Forgive me, Celia. We can never be alone again.”

—

Talisa rode next to him as they headed back towards the main Stark camp. Celia was nearby, but Robb refused to look at her. 

He had dreamed of her last night, dreamed of her beneath him, pliant and perfect under his touch as she had been on the night they would never repeat. She had been like the Maiden come to him and his heart twisted in his chest as he forced himself to not look at her, forced himself to not draw his horse closer to hers and shower her with his attentions as he wanted to. He couldn’t. He couldn’t. 

_ Mate.  _

“Is she beautiful?” Talisa asked, referring to the girl he was meant to marry from House Frey. 

He forgot, sometimes, about the betrothal, about how he was meant to take another woman to his bed. Did it matter if the woman was not Celia? His heart told him that it didn’t. “I’ve never met her.”

“What’s her name?”

“Frey, I suppose,” he replied. “I don’t know her first name.”

“I’m sure you’ll be very happy together.” He could see the way her lips curled and he smiled at that, if only a little as she laughed. “And you’re marrying her for a bridge?”

“An important bridge,” he added. 

“Ah.” She didn’t understand. He could tell it by the tone of her voice. He could tell that her separation from the conflict held her back from truly understanding why it was he needed to marry the Frey girl. She didn’t understand why his men hesitated around her because the men she treated fought for a king who had taken the life of their liege lord. 

“It was before they killed my father,” he said. “I still thought I could march south and rescue him in time, but only if I crossed that bridge.”

“When I speak to people from the North,” she said. “They all loved your father.”

“He’s the best man I ever met. I know children, especially sons, always think that about fathers, but—“

“He was your father and judging by the man I see you to be, he must have been a father to be proud of.”

Robb chuckled and glanced at her, but saw Celia instead. She looked so lonely that he wanted to draw his horse back to hers but he couldn’t. He couldn’t. He turned away. “He once told me that being a lord is like being a father, except you have thousands of children and you worry about all of them. The farmers plowing the fields are yours to protect. The charwomen scrubbing the floors, yours to protect. The soldiers you order into battle. He told me he woke with fear in the morning and went to bed with fear in the night. I didn't believe him. I asked him,  _ How can a man be brave if he's afraid? That is the only time a man can be brave, _ he told me.”

“I wish I could have met him.”

“He would have liked you,” he admitted. How much, he wasn’t sure. But his father always thought highly of those who served the realm rather than their own need. 

“Most lords worry more about their gold and glory than the charwomen scrubbing their floors.”

“He didn’t care much about gold or glory.”

“And you?”

“You think I'm fighting this war so they'll sing songs about me?” he asked. “I want to go home. I want the men following me to go home.”

“Then why don’t you?”

And this is where she would not understand, not a woman who came from a place where slavery was practiced “Because well never be safe until the Lannisters are defeated. The North will never be free if they aren’t. And I believe in justice.”

“Chopping off Jofffrey’s head, you mean.”

“That would be a start.”

—

Robb hugged his mother in greeting and she smiled at him. “I heard the Kingslayer attempted to escape,” he said.

“He did,” she replied. “But things have been handled.”

He smiled at her and kissed her brow. “I must speak with the men about heading to the Twins.”

He glanced back at Celia who watched him carefully. He turned away and headed towards the main tent. 

He could not be weak. He could not allow himself to grovel at her feet. 

_ Mate.  _

_ My mate.  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is going to be so much more angst going forward!!!!! 😭😭😭😭😭
> 
> But Cat’s going to realize something next chapter!


	31. Catelyn X

Catelyn was still reeling from the loss of her youngest sons when her first and eldest returned to her. She was still feeling the loss bubble in her stomach, shifting uneasily beneath her. She should have been with them. She should have been in Winterfell to protect them. She should have… she should have…

But she was not so engrossed in her grief that she could not sense that something was wrong upon the return of her son and Celia. 

Something must have happened at the Crag. Catelyn did not know what it possibly could have been, but something had happened. 

In the mornings, Celia’s eyes were raw, as though she had been crying all hours the previous night. In the evenings, she retired early, as though the thought of the day going on for any longer was just too much. 

Something must have happened. She spoke with Robb, but he told her nothing. She spoke to Celia, but the poor girl looked as though she were about to cry, as though it was she who had done something wrong, but Catelyn could not imagine the girl doing anything that would warrant tears. She was too much like her father, too kind and gentle. 

Even so, Catelyn sat with the girl occasionally in the evenings and spoke to her as though nothing was wrong and this seemed to ease Celia, at least a little bit. It was the most that Catelyn could do. And, as she spoke with her husband’s eldest daughter, she felt some relief. 

Because, for a brief moment in time, it felt as though her sons were still alive. 

—

Catelyn watched as her son seemed to draw closer to Lady Talisa. 

The young woman was kind and she had rather radical ideas, not seeming to fully understand the politics of war, no doubt because she had no family to avenge, or house she owed loyalty to. The conflict might have even felt ridiculous to her if not for Ned’s death. 

“Walter Frey is a dangerous man to cross,” she warned her son as he escorted her back to her tent for the evening. 

Robb sighed. “I know that.”

“You do not know the Frey girl,” she said. “I know, perhaps you feel you owe her no loyalty, but you swore a vow. You do not owe her your heart, but you owe her the respect you would want any man betrothed to your sisters to have.”

“You do not understand,” he said firmly 

“Robb, I too was betrothed to your uncle and then your father. I knew Nes far less than I knew Brandon. I understand completely.”

“You don’t,” he repeated. “You truly don’t. Mother, you do not understand my heart. You do not understand how it burns for her, how I feel as though I shall go mad knowing that she can never be mine. That I will never be allowed to claim her for myself.”

Catelyn looked at her son in shock. She had never heard Robb speak so passionately about anyone and it broke her heart that he could not be with this woman he had come to care for so dearly. “I’m sorry,” she said softly. “I’m sorry that I cannot allow you to marry as you will. I am sorry that your father and I have given you no other options, but perhaps if you allow yourself to prepare for this marriage, to be content in it… Your father didn't love me when we married. He hardly knew me or I him. Love didn't just happen to us. We built it slowly over the years, stone by stone, for you, for your brothers and sisters, for all of us. It's not as exciting as secret passion in the woods, but it is stronger. It lasts longer.”

“And do you think that is what would be in store for me with one of Walter Frey’s daughters?” Robb asked. “What you and Father had?”

“I can only pray for it, Robb. But it is your marriage. If you come into it with a closed heart, it is so very hard to open after.”

Robb nodded carefully. He kissed the crown of Catelyn’s head as he left her at her tent. Catelyn entered and discovered a letter waiting for her. 

She picked it up and recognized the writing completely. 

_ Dearest Cat, _

_ I have heard whispers of what is happening in court, of your daughter Sansa’s treatment. Even the Mad King would be impressed by Joffrey Baratheon’s cruelty. With every victory your son makes, he has her dragged into court, stripped, and beaten by his kingsguard.  _

_ I hear she is weak, Cat. She is young and I do not think she can take much more punishment. I am still speaking with those who work for the Lannisters, with the Imp himself and I believe an exchange of the Kingslayer for your daughter will be enough.  _

_ Hurry, Cat. Your daughter needs you.  _

_ I think too much Stark blood has been spilt already. I do not wish to send you more bones, nor do I wish to hear more of the death of those who are still young.  _

_ Yours, _

_ Petyr _

Catelyn’s hands trembled as she gripped the paper tightly until it ripped. 

Sansa…

Sansa was being beaten. 

She stumbled and something crashed, but she was unsure what it was, she was so dazed. 

“My lady,” Brienne said, entering the tent and helping Catelyn kneel without hurrying herself. 

Sansa was being beaten, before the entire court. In front of witnesses. 

Then what was happening behind closed doors, what could the birdied boy king be doing to her daughter if he was willing to humiliate her so in public?

She felt sick to her stomach, she felt nausea swim across her body. 

Sansa… and where was Arya… what had they done to Arya?

—

“Now that your son has returned,” Brienne said as they watched the soldiers guarding the Kingslayer grow drunker and drunker. “I doubt that the Karstarks will remain still. Even the king would doubtless do nothing to truly punish them. Afterall, who wants to die defending a Lannister?”

Catelyn pursed her lips and thought of Sansa, bruised and bloody. She moved forward with determination and the guards quieted, allowing her to be led to his cage. The Kingslayer was back Ered in blood and dirt and if she did not already know who he was, Catelyn would not have recognized him. 

“I need to be alone with him,” she said firmly. 

“My lady,” one of the guards said. “Our orders—“

“Your orders, which I had just given you, are to leave me alone with him.”

Brienne unshed the guards out and remained at the door of the cage as Catelyn stared down at the man who allowed chaos to reign in King’s Landing. 

“Come to say goodbye, Lady Stark?” he asked. “I believe this might be my last night in this world.” His green eyes shifted and narrowed. “Is that a woman?”

“Do you hear them outside this cage?” she demanded. “They want your head.”

The Kingslayer snorted. “Old Lord Karstark doesn’t seem to like me.”

“You strangled his son with your chains,” Catelyn growled. This man knew no consequences. This man did not think of anyone but himself. 

“Oh,” he replied. “Was he the guard on duty? He was in my way. Any knight would have done the same.”

“You are no knight,” Catelyn said, her voice trembling. Bran had wished to be a knight once, noble and strong and gallant. “You have forsaken every vow you ever took.”

“So many vows,” he said sarcastically, the words rolling off his tongue. “They make you swear and swear. Defend the king, obey the king, obey your father, protect the innocent, defend the weak. But what if your father despises the king? What if the king massacres the innocent? It's too much. No matter what you do, you're forsaking one vow or another.” He looked at Brienne again. “Where did you find this beast?”

Brienne stood next to Catelyn, her hand on her sword and Catelyn lifted her chin at the man sitting before her. “She is a truer knight than you will ever be, Kingslayer.”

“Kingslayer,” the man sneered. “What a king he was. Here's to Aerys Targaryen, the Second of His Name, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, Protector of the Realm, and to the sword I shoved in his back.”

“You are a man without honor.”

“Do you know,” he asked. “I’ve never been with any woman butbCersei. So, in my own way, I have more honor than poor old dead Ned. What were the names of the bastards he fathered?”

Catelyn’s heart trembled. “Brienne.”

“No, that wasn’t it,” he replied bitingly. “ _ Snow _ , a bastard from the North. Now, when good old Ned came home with some whore’s babies, did you pretend to love them? No. You’re not very good at pretending. You’re an honest woman. You hated the boy, didn’t you? A threat to your son’s inheritance. Did you hate the girl too? How could you not? The walking, talking reminder that the honorable Lord Eddard Stark fucked another woman.” He flashed his teeth to Catelyn, as though he were a lion desperately trying to prove that he was not the one being hunted. “She’s rather beautiful, isn’t she?” the Kingslayer asked. “The bastard girl. So very Northern and yet… well, I have seen her wander the camp now like a ghost. I have seen girls like here, although she was a woman grown when I saw her. What Northman hurt her, I wonder? What Northman could be so cruel to leave a girl wandering like Queen Rhaella Targaryen? What Northman could be so cruel as to leave a girl so unprotected like Lyanna Stark.”

Catelyn took a sharp breath and looked to Brienne. “Your sword.”

The lady knight drew it and placed it in Catelyn’s hands. It was heavy, so very heavy. But she needed to protect her daughters. She could not lose any more children, not when there was hope to keep them safe.

—

Catelyn went to Celia’s tent after. Brienne and the Kingslayer were long gone and they would not be discovered until morning. 

Grey Wind looked at her, his eyes ever guarding as he rested his large head once more Becky to Celia, her cheeks glistening again from crying. The blue light of the moon shone through the slits of the tent, casting a thin ray of light across the crown of her head, catching against her braids and making them look like winter roses. 

Catelyn’s breath began to knot at her throat at the sight. 

She had met Lyanna Stark only one, only once at that damned tourney. It was no official meeting, just a curtsy and a disinterested conversation about the North and the South. But Catelyn would never forget the look of the girl being crowned the queen of love and beauty, of her dark hair falling like darkness across her shoulders and the blue flowers striking against her hair like ice. 

Catelyn stumbled back. 

It was impossible. 

No… it could not be…

And yet, it was something Ned would do. He would do anything for his sister. He had been willing to lie for Sansa and Arya, she had heard. He would have lied and allowed his honor to be questioned if it meant protecting his sister’s children. 

He would have done anything. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So Catelyn knows the truth now 😱 (at least half of it)


	32. Celia XI

Celia had awoken to Lady Catelyn being in her tent. Initially, the presence she did not recognize alarmed her, but when she saw the red hair and Tully features, she felt relaxed. And yet she could not figure out why her father’s wife had come to her tent in the middle of the night. 

“My lady?”

The older woman blinked, as though she were in a daze. “Forgive me, my dear,” she said. “I was lost in thought and I did not leave when I should have.”

Celia slid from her bed and wrapped her furs around her. “Your hair is still styled as it had been yesterday,” she said. “Shall I escort you back to your tent my lady? You appear to need rest.”

“Thank you, Celia,” she replied. “I fear I have had much on my mind this night.”

Celia nodded carefully and pulled on her over coat, to cover her underdress. It was easier to do so, especially since the nights were not as cold as those in Winterfell, she could hardly sleep in her coat as well. She offered Lady Catelyn her arm and they walked to the lady’s tent. Celia thought her father’s wife would then prepare for bed, but, instead she sat down at her desk. 

“My lady?” Celia asked. “Where is Lady Brienne?”

It was then that Robb stormed into his mother’s tent suddenly. “Tell me it isn’t true,” he demanded. Celia looked at him in confusion and then to Lady Catelyn who said nothing. “Why?”

“For the girls,” the lady said simply. 

“You betrayed me,” Robb said, his voice shaking. 

“Robb,” Celia said. “What’s going—“

“You knew I would not allow it,” Robb said sharply. “And you did it anyway.”

“Bran and Rickon are dead!” Lady Catelyn said, standing. “Sansa is being held by a boy king who killed your father. She is being beaten nearly every day! Who knows where Arya is! I had five children and suddenly only three and only one of them is free by my side.”

Celia had not noticed Lord Rickard Karstark had entered the tent as well. “I lost one some fighting by your son’s side. I lost another to the Kingslayer, strangled with a chain. You commit treason because your children are prisoners? I would carve out my heart and offer it to the Father, if he would let my sons wake from their graves and step into a prison cell.”

“I grieve for your sons, my lord,” Lady Catelyn said. “Just as I grieve for mine.”

“I don’t want your grief,” Lord Karstark spat. “I want my vengeance and you stole it from me.”

“Killing Jaime Lannister would not buy life for your children,” Lady Catelyn said firmly. “But returning him to King’s Landing might return two of mine.”

It was then that Celia fully understood what was going on, what had happened. What Lady Catelyn had done. 

“Jaime Lannister has played you for a fool,” Robb said. “You’ve weakened our position. You’ve brought discord into our camp. And you did it all behind my back.” He looked so hurt and he sounded so broken. Celia reached to touch him. “Make sure she’s guarded day and night. I will not imprison you, Mother, but I cannot trust you.”

“Robb—“

He ignored his mother’s voice and turned to one of the soldiers. “How many men did we send in pursuit of the Kingslayer?”

“Fourty, your grace,” replied a soldier. 

“Send another forty with our fastest horses.”

“Robb—“

Celia’s brother ignored his mother and left the tent, but Celia went after him. 

“Robb,” she said, grabbing hold of his arm tightly as his men glared at her, but marched on to give out their king’s orders. “You cannot blame your mother for acting rashly. She has lost two sons and she could do nothing to protect them. Their loss has forced her to act without thinking in hopes of getting our sisters back. Surely you and I can understand better than most what grief can do.”

Something flickered in his gaze that Celia could not read, but he pulled his arm from her. “She let our most valuable prisoner go.”

“They killed our father even when we had the Kingslayer. Robb, please.”

He turned away from her and stormed off. Her stomach twisted painfully as she watched him go. 

—

Celia watched through the day as she helped with the healers as her brother flirted with Lady Talisa. 

It shouldn’t bother her. Robb had always been a little on the flirtatious side. She knew what he had Theon would do when they went to Wintertown. She wasn’t a fool. Yet… yet it hurt her heart so keenly. 

He was her brother. Her  _ brother.  _

He was right when he said they were not Targaryens, that they were not Lannisters and yet her body longed for him just the same. 

She had never felt so alive till he was above her, inside her. She had felt whole, she had felt safe, even in that brief moment. 

But now whatever closeness they had shared seemed to have disappeared entirely. He avoided her presence, kept his eyes from her unless he had to. 

She wanted to fall on her knees before him and beg that he not treat her so coldly, that he allow her to remain by his side, even if it meant never having him that way again. She would do anything, she would be anything he wanted her to be. She would be his sister, his advisor, his friend. She just did not wish for him to dismiss her completely. 

She was truly a bastard, a bastard who had come to love her brother as a woman loved a man. She loved her brother in a way that she shouldn’t and she hated herself for it. She hated the way her traitorous heart longed for even a second of his approval, of even a moment where his hand might graze hers or where she might feel the heat from his body sink into her skin. 

She hated herself for what her heart and body wanted. She hated herself and she felt so very alone. 

Grey Wind nudged at her hand and licked at her elbow. 

Celia smiled sadly and ran her fingers through the direwolf’s fur. It was her only comfort really. 

It was all she deserved, no matter how much it hurt. 

—

Celia spent more time under Lady Catelyn’s service. It felt nice to be doing something besides helping with the healers and the maester’s present. They had all been overprotective since the kidnapping attempt. She was not allowed out on the battlefield anymore and she had to remain in the healing tent during them and only allowed to go out once a victory was secure. The Lannisters didn’t need to know where she was if they, indeed, still wanted her. 

Besides, it was good to spend time with her father’s wife, allowing her to have moments where she was not weighed down by everything. 

“Celia…”

“Yes, my lady?”

“Did your father ever speak to you about your mother?”

Celia looked up at the lady curiously. She had never asked such a thing before and, if Celia was in Lady Catelyn’s position, she wouldn’t wish to know at all. 

“He said he would tell me about her when he came back,” she said. “I don’t know what her name is or what she looks like.” Celia touched her face. “I know that some of my facial features don’t look quite Northern, so I assume she is from the south, but that is all I know. Jon and I look so much like Lord Stark. We would dream of who she was, sometimes, but we could never guess who she was. Father gave us no clues.” Celia chewed her lip. “We don’t even know if she’s dead or alive…”

“I’m sorry if I brought up something unpleasant,” Lady Catelyn said. “I just… I supposed I was wondering if Ned told you anything. You… you and your brother had a right to know who she was.”

Celia shook her head. “It only shows how much he loved you, Lady Catelyn. Whatever happened with my mother did not matter. He took Jon and I because he felt as though he had a duty to us, but not to our mother. You need not be concerned on my account. I have never had a mother, but I never knew what it was like to have one of my own.” It was a lie, in a way. She saw Lady Catelyn be a mother to her siblings, but this woman had lost Bran and Rickon in a way that Celia couldn’t possibly understand. “I feel no loss.”

Lady Catelyn placed her hand on Celia’s cheek. “You are a good girl, I pray that you will find happiness one day.”

“Thank you, my lady.”

—

Celia was returning to her own tent after spending the early evening with Lady Catelyn, mending and working on some torn clothes from the soldiers that the two were determined to fix since everyone else was busy. As she was returning, she saw a figure leaving Robb’s. 

Lady Talisa’s hair was long and loose instead of in its usual braid and her lips were red and her clothes slightly disheveled. 

Rage began to clench at her heart as she saw the lady smile, glancing back at the tent. It wouldn’t take a genius to know what had just happened. 

“Lady Talisa,” Celia said as the lady approached. The smile slid off the woman’s lips when she saw her. “I believe you are here to tend to the wounded, not to do physicals to make sure our king can produce heirs.” She knew she was bitter, she knew that it was because of her own pain rather than any real sisterly concern that she might have, or concern as a Northwoman. “The family of the woman my brother is to marry walk these tents at night as some are on rotation to guard the king and camp. What would happen if they saw you coming out of their future good brother’s tent, giggling and so disheveled? You would be the cause of the ruin between our alliance with House Frey and a decent portion of our army. I know you do not care about the outcome of this war, nor are you from Westeros and care about our politics, but this war was started because a bastard decided to usurp a claim of a man he called father. Do you think the Freys would look kindly on their king and good son and brother having a possible bastard heir before any wedding takes place?”

“Leave her, Celia.” Robb’s stern voice came from his tent. She turned and found him dressed, but still disheveled. 

Celia looked away and returned her gaze to Lady Talisa. “I do not know how things in Volantis are, but I can promise you that bastards are hardly tolerated. Do not look at how I am viewed as it being normal. A Westerosi bastard is a very dangerous thing.”

She stormed off, her heart breaking with every step as bitter tears began to slide down her cheeks. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please don’t hate me (or Robb)


	33. Robb XI

Robb rode out from the front of his army with his lords beside him as they pushed forward in their campaign. They hadn’t had a victory as of late with the Lannister forces merely pulling back instead of fighting head on, seemingly aware that they might not win that way. 

It worried Robb and he knew it made his men and his mother anxious. He worried most of all that this was punishment for taking his sister’s maidenhead, if the gods viewed him as a lost cause and that they could not support his endeavor to take vengeance for his father’s death or save his youngest sisters, if Arya were still there. 

He had not been with Talisa since Celia had reprimanded her, knowing it had been a mistake. The Volantis woman had, at first not understood, but Robb said he could do no more to risk his alliance with the Freys. If he did, he would have no easy way to return North. 

“We should set the siege lines a thousand yards from Harrenhal,” Lord Bolton said. 

Robb shook his head. “There won’t be a siege. The Mountain can’t defend a ruin.”

“I imagine the Mountain will defend whatever Tywin Lannister tells him to defend.”

“The Lannisters have been running from us since Oxcross. I’d love a fight, the men would love a fight. I don’t think we’re going to get one.” 

Lord Bolton bowed his head as they continued to push forward. 

Robb looked up at the overcast sky, matching his mood. He had dreamed, last night, of Celia in his arms, her belly swollen with child. He had not known such peace until he awoke and had it taken from him with such force he had felt disoriented for most of the morning. He glanced back and saw his sister speaking with one of the soldiers, smiling at him and laughing quietly at something he said. The soldier’s cheeks turned bright red against his pale skin. Robb turned around. He did not want to watch as the image from his dream burned into his heart. 

—

As they had thought, the Lannisters had fled from Harrenhal, leaving nothing but a scattering of bodies across the grounds. Many of them were Northmen who had been captured. It twisted Robb’s stomach to see the cruelty, to see how little the Lannisters cared for those who they claimed as their own. It reminded him of what little his father shared about the rebellion. Of the Trident, of the Bells. 

“Two hundred Northmen slaughtered like sheep,” he heard Lord Karstark growl.

“The debt will be repaid, my friend,” Lord Bolton replied to him. “For them and your sons.”

“Will it?” Lord Karstark demanded. “They rot in the ground while their killer runs free.” 

“The Kingslayer won’t remain free for long. My best hunters are after him.” He chuckled. “If my bastard were here, he no doubt would have found him already.” 

Robb saw his mother standing over a body, her face ashen and he stood next to her and looked down. “A Mallister?”

“Ser Jeremy,” his mother answered. “My father’s bannerman. I knew him well. He used to dance with my sister often at feasts and his own sister had been rather sweet on Edmure when we were all children.” 

His heart broke for his mother. It felt as though she knew the names of everyone that fell. What little anger he had held towards her had long since dissipated, even though he knew that men like Lord Karstark were still angry. He had heard how the lord had threatened to strike her and he kept her secluded for her own safety more than his own anger. If he could, he would send her and Celia back to Winterfell, but he could not. 

“Find my mother a room to rest in,” he ordered one of his soldiers. They nodded. 

Talisa began to approach him but a cough caught his attention. He turned and saw Celia kneeling at a strange looking man’s side. 

“Water,” the man begged. “Water.” 

Celia took out her own water skin and offered it to him, taking her wine skin and pouring it onto an open gash on his leg. 

“What is your name?” She asked him as she began to tend to his wound.

“Qyburn,” he replied.

Robb noticed a blue ribbon in her hair that he did not recognize and wondered who had given it to her, what boy had given her such a gift, who had spent the time and energy to find a fresh blue ribbon for her to wear in her dark hair. 

“My name is Celia,” she said. “Celia Snow. Tell me if anything hurts or if you can’t feel anything at all.” 

Robb turned away then, turned away from Talisa as well and went to check on his mother. 

—

Robb still had the missive in his hand and looked at his mother as she sat in an archway, her blue eyes brimming with tears and her cheeks flushed. 

“I hadn’t seen him in years,” she whispered. “I don’t even know how many.” His mother looked out amongst the stone. “To a child, even one as old as I am always thinks that their parents will live forever. You cannot imagine them growing so old that you shall lose them to the constant of time.” She looked down at her hands. “I cannot even remember the last time I wrote to him.” 

“We’ll travel to the funeral together,” Robb assured her. “Lord Bolton will garrison here until we return.”

“Will I be wearing manacles when I lay my father to rest?”

“No, Mother,” he said gently. “You are not my prisoner. You are my mother and I… I am trying to be a king, when I still feel like Father’s heir.” 

His mother looked up at him in concern. “Something else has happened?” She guessed. 

“By the time Lord Bolton’s bastard Ramsay got to Winterfell, the Ironborn were gone. They had massacred nearly everyone and put the castle to torch. Ramsay sent the survivors to the Dreadfort as it is better kept than Winterfell now as he sets to work rebuilding what the Ironborn have done. He has heard whispers that it might not have been Bran and Rickon who were killed as they could find no one matching Hodor’s description amongst the dead and burned. They could not find any wildling woman either, but that could be neither here nor there.”

His mother looked up at him, eyes wide. “Bran and Rickon could be alive?”

Robb nodded. “They could be on the run towards one of our loyal bannermen in their keeps or Theon could have taken them to the Iron Islands.” 

“Have you received any demands? Has Celia?”

Robb shook his head. “No.” 

“Have you heard anything from Theon at all?”

Robb shook his head once more. “No.”

—

Robb watched as his men marched past. Lord Karstark was next to him.

“We’re at war,” he said. “This march is a distraction.”

“My grandfather’s funeral is not a distraction.” 

“Are we riding to battle at Riverrun?”

“No.”

“Then it’s a distraction.”

“My Uncle Edmure has his forces garrisoned there,” Robb countered. “We need his men.” 

“Unless he’s been breeding them, he doesn’t have enough to make a difference.” 

“The Blackfish will be there as well. I have no doubt he will help us and there are plenty more who may wish to fight if they see we have the Blackfish alongside us.” Robb turned to Lord Karstark. “Have you lost faith in our cause?”

“If it’s revenge, I still have faith in it.”

“If you no longer believe—“

“I can believe till it snows in Dorne. It doesn’t change the fact that we’ve got half the men.” 

“May I speak my mind, your grace?”

“Considering you felt at ease threatening my mother, the widow of your liege lord, I do not think I can stop you from speaking your mind.” 

“Your men are seeing no reward for their efforts. They are seeing nothing to show that you have found any favor in them. You lost Winterfell to your father’s ward, you gained it but your brothers are lost. The one who will be our queen is not a daughter of the North.” A blue ribbon caught Robb’s eye but he refused to turn. “Your men need to see that you have the North as your priority.” 

“And how would you suggest that, my lord.” 

“Reward one of your loyal bannermen with a marriage to your sister.” 

Robb nodded. “Arya is already betrothed to a Frey, but Sansa is free once we rescue her from the Lannisters. She is young still, so it would be a while before anything could happen, but—“

“I spoke not of your trueborn sisters,” Lord Karstark said abruptly. “I speak of your father’s bastard daughter, Lady Celia.”

Robb stared at the man for a long time. “Celia?”

“My cousin, Cregan, fancies her,” Lord Karstark answered. “They have spoken often and he has even made his feelings known to her, although the lady insists that it is you who must decide her fate when it comes to marriage.” 

“He proposed to her?” Robb said in shock. Anger and jealousy burned in his belly but he forced it down. “My lord, forgive me, but he is old enough to be her father and a widower twice over. I shall think of your suggestions about marriage, but surely it would be better to have a marriage between her and a younger lord.”

“Our houses have married for centuries and you sister is a bastard, even if she is your father’s. Marriage such as the one I am suggesting would be wise.” 

Robb hated it. The thought of Cregan Karstark touching Celia. He hated the thought of her being claimed by such a man. “I shall speak to my mother on it. While I know I am her oldest male relative other than my Uncle Benjen and whatever comes from her mother’s side, whoever that may be, but my own mother has grown quite fond of her since my brothers were murdered.” He hated using his brothers in such a way. “I do not wish to deprive her of her only comfort. Perhaps we might speak of it once we get to Riverrun. And if your cousin proves himself to be a man worthy of my sister then we may talk.” He bowed his head. “I shall head to the front of the march.” 

He rode off, his heart trembling in his chest. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dun dun DUN!!!!!!


	34. Catelyn XI

Catelyn wove the wooden circle with twine. Her lips moved carefully over the prayers she had been taught she was a little girl, carefully weaving the words with every curl of the twine, speaking to the Mother of her worries and her woes. She did not know if perhaps her boys were alive. She did not know if perhaps they had not been killed. She could not know for certain. So she prayed for Sansa and Arya, for Robb and Celia. 

Catelyn heard the whine of a horse and turned to see Lady Talisa sliding off her horse trying to calm her. She turned back to her work. “You’re afraid of her, and she knows it.”

“I’m not afraid of her,” the girl said. The girl claimed a lot of things, but they were often made on her own assumption of how her views were the only right ones. Very few thoughts that came from war were right. And very few thoughts against them were correct either, especially when one did not have a true connection to the war at hand. “May I help you, Lady Stark?”

“No,” Catelyn said flatly. 

“I’m sorry,” she said quickly. “I shouldn’t have—“

Catelyn sighed. The girl was so quick to assume the issue was with her and not because Westeros had a different culture from her own. “You can’t help because a mother makes one for her children to protect them. Only a mother can make them.”

“You’ve made them before?” Talisa asked, sitting next to her. 

“Twice.”

“Did they work?”

“After a fashion,” Catelyn replied. “I prayed for my son Bran to survive his fall.”

The young woman beside her nodded carefully. 

“Many years before that, one of the boys came down with the pox.” She could still remember the crying, of Celia holding onto her father as she sobbed helplessly, as though she could feel the pain as well. “Maester Luwin said that if he made it through the night, he’d live. But it would be a very long night.” Ned had never been good with such things. Catelyn supposed he had felt too much death within his own house that the thought of any more made him grow distant, distant enough that he would not look at his son, would not watch over him as any other father might have. “So I sat with him all through the darkness. Listened to his ragged little breaths, his coughing, his whimpering.”

“Which boy?”

Catelyn looked up and saw Celia walking beside a soldier from the Riverlands. She had seen her a few times with the same young man. They smiled at one another, but Catelyn felt as though it were an innocent flirtation. One that girls usually made after some great heartbreak. 

“Jon Snow,” Catelyn replied and Lady Talisa’s eyes went to Celia as well. “When my husband brought the twins home from war, I couldn’t even look at them. I didn’t want to see this stranger’s eyes staring up at me. The girl was one thing. A girl was no threat and could even be useful. But a boy… A Stark looking boy placed in the crib my husband’s family had used for generations. A crib now used before I could even place my own son inside it. I prayed to the gods, _take him away_ . The darker part of my heart whispered, _make him die._ ” Catelyn turned to Lady Talisa. “He got the pox. And I knew I was the worst woman who ever lived. A murderer. I’d condemned this poor, innocent child to a horrible death because I was jealous of his mother. A woman he didn’t even know. A woman they have never met. The only mother they have known is my own shadow.” Shame swirled in her heart and she knew that there was nothing that she could do for Jon Snow, not now that he was far from her reach and at the Wall with Benjen. She could only do her best for Celia now. “So I prayed to all seven gods, and to the ones I did not normally pray to, _let the boy live_. Let him live and I will love him. I will be a mother to him. I’ll beg my husband to give him a true name, to call them both Stark and be done with it, to make him one of us.”

“And he lived.”

“And he lived. And I Dís not keep my promise. And everything that has happened since then, all this horror that’s fine to my family, it’s all because I couldn’t love two motherless children.”

“My lady—“

“Perhaps it is not the gods’ punishment. Perhaps it is. I shall not know until I breathe my last. But I shall not remain as I had been. I shall do what I can to remedy the injuries of the past. I shall not remain the bitter woman I had once been. I cannot.” She closed her eyes. “I cannot.”

Not now. Not when she knows the truth.

—

Now that she knew what she was looking for, Catelyn thought herself foolish for never noticing it before. 

It was true that Celia had the Stark coloring. Her hair was the same dark brown as Ned’s and the shape of her eyes were the same as well. But her features… There were similarities to Lyanna, from what she could remember. But her features were more Valyrian, hidden by her darker coloring. Her cheeks and lips reminded Catelyn a bit of the late queen, of Rhaella Targaryen. Her profile reminded Catelyn of Rhaegar Targaryen, of the profile she could see from when he had moved past his wife and crowned Lyanna Stark as his Queen of Love and Beauty. 

Catelyn wondered if she had looked closer to Jon Snow if she would have seen something similar. She wondered if she would see her good sister’s features etched against the Silver Prince’s. 

The knowledge of their father and mother twisted a knife deep into her heart. Why had Ned not told her? A part of her knew. She would have lived in constant fear instead of anger. And anger was so much more powerful than fear. 

Even so, she wished that Ned had told her the truth. Told her the truth of his lies. Perhaps… perhaps things might have been different. She didn’t know for certain. But she needed to verify the truth. Verify it because this could change the entirety of the war. 

She wrote to the only man left alive that had been with her husband when Lyanna died. 

She wrote to Howland Reed and told him that she knew the truth of Celia and Jon’s mother. She wrote and asked if they had met at the Tourney at Harrenhal, and she spoke of the crumbling _tower_ implied at Winterfell, asking for him to perhaps see if there were any _joyful_ news that he might be able to verify such truth.

—

The funeral had been unbearable. Edmure had not been able to make the shot, had not been able to stomach that their father was gone, not been able to keep his eyes clear of tears to take the shot and had given them duty to their uncle. 

He had always been there for them, a second father to them when their own was forced to make decisions as Lord Tully. 

Now, Catelyn sat at the window of her girlhood room and looked out at the beauty of the Riverlands. She could hardly understand why it was so beautiful. Why the beauty continued to be present despite everything that had happened. It was cruel that the world should continue on when she had lost so much already. 

“A person could almost be forgiven for forgetting we’re at war,” she said softly. 

“It often comforts me to think that even in war’s darkest days, in most places in the world, absolutely nothing is happening.”

Catelyn smiled sadly. “I’ve missed you, Uncle. Father missed you too, from the day got left. Maybe he never said it in so many words—“

“Maybe?” her uncle scoffed. “Your father was a stubborn old ox. I was surprised when he died. Didn’t think the Stranger had the patience for it.”

A short, breathily laugh escaped from her lips. “I’m glad you were with him. I wish to the gods I had been.” She glanced at him. “Did you make peace in the end?”

“After thirty years of fighting, I don't think he remembered what started it. He asked me to stop calling myself Blackfish. He said it was an old joke and it was never funny to begin with. I told him people had been calling me Blackfish for so long, they don't remember my real name.”

Catelyn felt tears come into her eyes and turned to look out the window once more. “Every time he would leave for the capital or fight in a campaign, I'd see him off. _Wait for me, little Cat_ , he'd say. _Wait for me and I'll come back to you._ And I would sit at this window every day when the sun came up, waiting. I wonder how many times did Bran or Rickon stare across the moors of Winterfell waiting for me to return. I will never see them again.”

The thought of her boys tore at her heart. Her precious boys. Her boys who were lost to her. Did they know how much she longed for them? Did they know how much she loved them and loves them still?

Her uncle put his hands on her shoulders as she wept. “You mustn't think it. We don't know the truth. They could be in hiding. Robb believes they're alive. And he must go on believing. He's got to remain strong if he's to prevail. And you must remain strong for him.”

Catelyn nodded. She nodded. “Oh, Uncle,” she said. “There is so much I wish to tell you.” A letter had arrived from Howland Reed. It merely told her that a winter rose had grown beside her and she knew the truth. “There is so much I wish to tell you. Things that might change this war but I do not know if it is wise.”

“I know how to keep secrets Cat. Regardless of what your father thought of me, I could keep them, even if I did not agree with them. Tell me your worries and perhaps I might ease the burden. Perhaps, if this would influence the war, perhaps we might figure out how to get your girls back.”

—

Celia had begun to grow sick and Catelyn worried for her. 

Catelyn had told her uncle the truth and, while he was upset at Ned for keeping such a thing secret, he understood it immediately. 

“It’s a dangerous thing,” he had told her. “Her brother has no doubt already taken his vows or else he would be here fighting by Robb’s side. But that girl. If she is the daughter of Rhaegar Targaryen she is in more trouble than she knows. Robert Baratheon got the throne because of his part in the rebellion, but also because his grandmother was a Targaryen. Ned had just as much claim to the throne as Robert and his niece and nephew have Targaryen blood that has woven more recently into their being. If it gets out that she might have some claim to the throne, as much as Robert Baratheon did after conquest, then there will be many who will want to use her to claim the throne. Stannis Baratheon and Joffrey Waters will want her killed, but I can see Tywin Lannister wanting to use her. The most foolish thing he did was have Princess Elia Martell and her children killed. If he had kept Princess Rhaenys alive, it would have strengthened Joffrey’s position if he married her. If he feels he cannot control Joffrey, he might think that he can control the Kingslayer, that boy was the first to sit on the throne after the Mad King died.” He had shaken his head. “I shall think of what to do, but for now… for now I would hold off on any marriage to Robb. Tell the Freys that you wish to better secure thugs before a marriage is done, but offer something they can have now, a connection to Riverrun. Edmure is unmarried and the lord of the Riverlands. Tell them that, because of your father’s illness he could not come to Walter Frey’s recent wedding, but to show our loyalty to those who are loyal to us, have a daughter of his made into the Lady of Riverrun and have his grandson the Lord of the Riverlands. That should ease him and we can always hope he dies before the war is over. Robb’s marriage is set, but not in stone. Walter Frey would enjoy having a grandson at Riverrun and we can put Robb’s marriage off by claiming he wishes for Winterfell to be more secure as he would want his bride and sister and mother to be placed safely there. It might encourage more of the Frey men to fight for us and also give them a better reputation amongst the Northmen. If Walder Frey is smart, he will see the reason for it.”

Catelyn thought on her uncle’s words as she stroked Celia’s hair and worried for her health. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Man, this was a big chapter. I hope this makes up for missing last week. 
> 
> Inserted a small whiff of Ceime for your guys’ imagination as well!
> 
> I’m also starting another Celiaverse contest. If you want to look at the information, the post is pinned to the top of my tumblr. 
> 
> Also, I have a new Celiaverse fic called Tenpest Grove if you guys want to check it out!


	35. Celia XII

Lord Edmure was handsome, there was no denying that. He looked a little like Robb, only his features were more like those of the Riverlords while Robb had the face of the North. However, while he was a handsome man, he was still one of Robb’s men and all eyes were constantly upon him as the new lord of Riverrun as well as the king’s uncle. 

“If I may,” he said. “I encountered a situation with one of my lieutenants at the Stone Mill which may have some bearing—“

“Please,” the Blackfish said. “Cease this chatter about the mill, it was a pointless victory and barely one at that.”

“I think—“

“It is a blunder,” the Blackfish stated firmly. “It was no victory.”

Celia listened as the Tully men argued. She waited for Robb to speak, wondering when he would do so. He stared outside the window as though he wished to be anywhere but there. He looked South, to where their sisters were.

She could see the annoyance rolling off her brother’s back like dark clouds. He was angry and she knew that their father saw him to be quite like their Uncle Brandon.

Celia wanted to say something, offer some word of advice or comfort. But she was Lord Stark’s disgrace, allowed by the grace of her brother’s title to stay in the halls of his mother’s girlhood. She held far too much respect for Lady Catelyn to force her opinion when it was barely one at all. 

Robb spoke out then, rebuking his uncle and any words that Celia might have said died upon her tongue. “It's not about glory,” he said. “Your instructions were to wait for Tywin to come to you.”

“I seized an opportunity,” Lord Edmure said firmly. 

Robb sighed. “What value is the mill?”

“The Mountain was garrisoned across the river from it.”

“And is he there now?” Robb asked. “Of course not.”

“We took the fitting to him,” Lord Edmure insisted. “He could not withstand us.”

“I wanted to draw the Mountain into the west,” Robb said firmly. “Into our country where we could surround him and kill him. I wanted him to chase us, which he would have done because he is a man without a strategic thought in his head. I could have that head on a spike by now. Instead, I have a mill.”

“We took hostages,” Lord Edmure continued. “Willem and Martyn Lannister.”

“These boys are barely fourteen or fifteen and I once held the Kingslayer. Did Tywin Lannister ever sue for peace? Did I? No, having two Lannister cousins will do nothing.”

“How many men did we lose?” Celia asked. 

Robb’s gaze shifted to her, she could feel it against her skin even as she looked away. She could still remember the touch of his skin to hers, the heat of his body radiating through her own and the sound of his growls in her ear. She blushed and glanced down at her hands as Lord Edmure answered. 

“For every man we lost, the Lannisters—“

“We need our men more than Tywin Lannister needs his,” Robb said firmly. 

“I’m sorry,” Lord Edmure said “I didn’t know.”

“You would have, had you waited,” Robb continued. 

“We seem to be running short on patience,” the Blackfish said. 

“You know who isn’t?” Robb scoffed. “Tywin Lannister.”

—

Celia awkwardly helped Lady Talisa tend to the two Lannister boys. They did not have many injuries, but it was better to make sure that there was nothing that might lead to infection. Even if they were not valuable prisoners, they were prisoners nonetheless. They needed to be treated fairly or else they would be no better than the Lannisters. 

“You’re Robb Stark’s sister,” Martyn Lannister said as she looked over Willem. 

“Hold still,” Talisa said as she tended to his arm. 

“Is it true what they say about him?” he continued. 

“I don’t know,” Celia replied. “What do they say about him?”

“That he can turn into a wolf at night.”

Celia blushed ever so slightly but she huffed to cover it. “True.”

“And he eats the flesh of his enemies,” Willem added. 

“He does it eat children,” Celia said. “You’ve nothing to fear.”

—

The Lannister boys were laid out upon the blanket. Celia’s stomach churned at the sight of them and she could barely look at them before she felt the bile rise in her throat. She went to Lady Cately to sit next to her as the Blackfish and Lord Edmure stood beside Robb. 

“Bring them in,” her brother said firmly. 

The Blackfish opened the door and Lord Karstark and a few of his men were brought in, hands bound. Celia could see that Cregan Karstark was not among them. 

“Is that all of them?” Robb demanded. “It took five of you to murder two unarmed squires?”

“Not murder, your grace,” Lord Karstark said proudly. “Vengeance.”

“Vengeance?” Robb demanded. “Your sons died in the line of duty. My father was murdered by a boy king who has no right to the throne. If I, a boy in your eyes, can stay my anger, then so can you, my lord. These are boys, my lord. Your sons were men.”

“Tell your mother to look at them then,” Lord Karstark demanded. “She killed them as much as I.”

“My mother had nothing to do with this. This was your own treason unless you are not man enough to own up to your own actions.”

“It’s treason to free your enemies,” Lord Karstark shouted. “In war, you kill your enemies. Did your father not teach you that boy?”

The Blackfish pulled back his hand to punch the lord but Celia stood and he paused. 

“These were not enemies, my lord,” Celia said firmly. “These were prisoners. These were prisoners taken into our camp, prisoners part of a family who have conflict with our independent kingdom, but they are still our prisoners. If you think that you have the authority to kill my brother’s prisoners then you are the same mindset of the Mad King. He killed plenty of Northern men because they sought justice for my aunt. They were taken prisoner and killed, breaking every law that would protect them from such cruelty. He took my uncle and grandfather and had them killed and we started a rebellion for such offense. You have proved yourself to be no better than the Mad King, blaming the innocent for the acts of the guilty. Lady Catelyn’s actions with Jaime Lannister were not wise. She has been treated accordingly. She is allowed freedom in her father’s keep and I am sure that if we had Winterfell secure, my brother, our king, would have sent her North. You, my lord have killed, that is so much more different than setting one free. Lady Catelyn has no blood on your hands, you have chosen to soak them yourselves. Not all treasons are the same, my lord. You wish to combine our houses, to have me marry your nephew and yet you have decided to act against our king. You are no better than the Lannisters. They killed Lord Stark and still expected my sister to marry their boy king. Whatever madness has taken you, Lord Karstark, I will not have it.”

“You think your pretty words mean anything, bastard?” Lord Karstark asked. “You think you know what you speak of? You who was born out of the great Ned Stark’s sin?”

“I may be a bastard, my lord,” she said firmly. “Perhaps I have spoken out of turn, but I am a young woman who has no experience with war. You, on the other hand, are a man who has that experience and the privilege to speak your mind. Did you speak your grievances with your king about these boys? Did you volunteer to hunt down the Kingslayer once he was set free? No. No, my lord, for you are a coward. You would rather stew in your anger and take it out on any who is not considered your equal. You have made your bed as you have made one for these boys. You have committed treason, my lord. The very same that the Mad King and Joffrey Waters committed.”

Lord Karstark reared up and Celia stepped back as Robb stood in front of her, putting himself between them. “Escort Lord Karstark to the dungeon,” Robb said flatly. “Hand the rest.”

“Mercy, your grace!” one of the men begged. “I didn’t kill anyone! I only watched for the guards!”

“Hand him last then,” Robb ordered. “As he watched for the guards, he can watch the others hang first.”

“Please!” the man begged. “They made me do it!”

The blackfish dragged the men out and Robb led Celia to the table and sat her down. “Are you alright?” he asked gently. 

Celia nodded. “Forgive me if I spoke out of turn.”

“No. It needed to be said.”

Lord Edmure stepped forward. “Word of this can’t leave Riverrun,” he said. “They were Tywin Lannister’s nephews. The Lannisters pay their debts. They never stop talking about it.”

Robb looked up at him. “Would you make me a liar then?”

“It wouldn’t be lying. It would simply be keeping our silence until the war is done.”

“Lord Karstark instigated the murder of my prisoners. He has to die.”

Lady Catelyn stood and went to them. “The Karstark are Northmen. They won’t forgive the killing of their lord much as you have not forgiven Joffrey for taking your father’s head.”

“Robb,” Celia said. “We cannot risk losing the Karstarks. Have him remain a prisoner here in Riverrun where he might have no more glory in battle. Promote a Karstark to his place at your council.”

“You spoke against him just now and you wish to treat him kindly?”

“I am asking that you do not make the mistakes of the kings that have come before you.”

Robb considered her words, but she feared that he did not listen. 

—

Rain poured heavily from the skies as Lord Karstark was dragged out to the center of the godswood where Robb stood. Celia stood next to Lady Catelyn and could sense the worry radiate from the woman and it seeped into Celia’s body like cold rain. 

“The blood of the First Men flows through my veins as much as yours boy,” Lord Karstark said loudly against the weather. “I fought the Mad King for your father. I fought Joffrey for you. We are kin—Stark and Karstark.”

“You claim to be my family and yet you have potentially put my sisters in danger with your actions. You have done the same as the very men you have fought against on behalf of my father and me.”

“I have avenged my sons and that is all that matters.”

“Then I shall send you to them. In your actions you have left your daughter without anything to protect her and I vow that she will have her place as a lady of her house. On the name of House Stark, she will be treated with more grace than you have offered those you see as beneath you. Kneel, my lord,” he said, drawing his sword. The man did so willingly. “Rickard Karstark, Lord of Karhold, here in the sight of gods and men, I sentence you to die for treason against the crown. Do you have any final words?”

“Kill me and be cursed,” he spat. “You are no king of mine.”

Celia looked away as the sword was raised and brought down. She felt her stomach roll at the sound of the dropped head. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dun dun DUN!

**Author's Note:**

> Come visit me on tumblr @fromtheboundlesssea


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